


Stolen Time

by lifeaftermeteor



Series: Across Time and Space [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Friend, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Slow Burn, Supportive Krolia (Voltron), Whump, Wingman Matt Holt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 47,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: If all you ever have is stolen time, you start paying attention to the small amalgamation of moments that make up the connective tissue of life and love.  A collection of Shiro-centric “missing scene” vignettes between Shiro and Keith. ((Rating is for Chapter 16; Chapters 24-25 rated "M"; all others Teen and Up))





	1. Truth

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Voltron fic. I couldn’t get this idea (or rather series of ideas) out of my head, so.... Encouraged by the lovely [Remsyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remsyk/), I offer up this bit of slow burn, friends-to-lovers snippetage for Shiro and Keith.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has narrowly avoided being removed from the Kerberos mission, but the break-up with Adam leaves him feeling unmoored. His mentee helps him work through his tumultuous feelings.

Shiro hurt.

He grit his teeth against the agony that swept up and down his body in waves, fighting against the diffuse ache in his arms, his back, his legs... Standing in front of the sink, his hands shook as he held the plate just above the soapy water and so he scrubbed _harder._

There was truth in the pain. He hurt because he was sick, yes. But if he hurt it also meant he was _alive_. And if he was alive, he could fly. And if he could fly, he would go to Kerberos.

Come Hell or high water.

Taking a shuddering breath, he set the plate aside on the drying rack and buried his arms in the warm water in the sink once more.  The soap suds climbed to his elbows as he searched for something else to clean and he could feel his forearms trembling.

Today had been a bad day.  Admittedly, he was sure he had had worse—like that time in orbit coming back from a space walk when he had to save _himself_ from getting blown out into the void—but even that experience still felt as if it had paled in comparison to the turbulence he'd gone through within the last twenty-four hours.  Even knowing he was still going to Kerberos with the Holts felt tarnished somehow, as if all those years and beaten records and notoriety were dashed like futile dreams on the floor underfoot.

It was then that the front door to his apartment opened off to his right.  For the briefest moment, his heart surged in his chest with the thought of, _Maybe…?_ before plummeting back down with the force of gravity.  Shiro turned his attention fully to his unexpected guest and was startled to find Keith shutting the door quickly behind him and kicking off his standard-issue boots.  “Keith?” Shiro prompted. “What are you doing here?”

“Iverson was calling orders at the simulators.  And you weren’t at our mentoring session today,” Keith explained.  “Commander Holt said you were unwell. But you would have _told me_ if you weren’t going to make it.  Which means something else is going on.”

Shiro gave him a half-hearted smile.  “I see nothing gets past you.”

"Does this have something to do with you and Adam breaking up?"

The directness of the question sent Shiro’s heart into his throat.  A matter of fact. Acknowledge. Accept. Move on. "I see news travels fast," he observed with a sigh, turning away for a moment to collect himself.  The fact that the Garrison was talking about his personal business bothered him more than he cared to admit. Pulling the stopper from the sink drain, Shiro set to drying the last dish while he turned back to face the cadet.  

He found Keith as clear-eyed and steady as ever.  But then he squinted up at him, studied him....and then Shiro watched his eyes dart down to his wrist.  "Why aren't you wearing the band?"

Shiro plastered a smile on his face and hoped the distance meant Keith wouldn't see the tremors.  "I was feeling pretty good today, so..."

There must have been something in his eyes, something that the pain had turned feral which gave him away.  Keith glared. "Liar. That's not how it works, anyway. Where is it?"

Shiro sighed and dropped the plate on the drying rack with more force than he intended, but whether it had simply slipped from his fingers or his grip had failed him he didn't know...and frankly, didn't care.  "In my bedroom," he told Keith as he used the dish towel to dry his hands, "somewhere." But before he could say more, Keith spun on his heel and walked away. "Keith! What—? Hey!"

Bolting from the kitchenette, Shiro followed the retreating form to the adjacent room.  He hesitated at the doorway and watched as Keith studied the space for only a moment before he started to search.  First in the reasonable locations—like dresser drawers and on the nightstands—before moving on to the closet and crouching on the floor to look under the bed.

Recovering from his initial shock at the ransacking, Shiro demanded, "What are you _doing?_  You realize this is an invasion of privacy, right?"

But his protests died on his lips when Keith stood up again, now holding the medical device in his hand.  The band that Shiro had chucked across the room earlier in the day in a fit of desperation and disillusionment.  Keith held it up to him like an offering. "Take it."

Shiro hesitated, feeling his anger return.  "No," he said, his voice cold.

"You need it," Keith insisted.  "Take it."

"Stop."

"Shiro—"

"Keith!  Enough!" Shiro snapped. The tone startled the young man who stood suddenly stock still in the middle of his bedroom, still presenting the device to him with an open hand.  The sight of the uncertainty—maybe even fear—in those violet eyes drew him up short, however, and Shiro felt the anger drain from him as soon as it had arisen. "Not...today.  Please," he added, feeling suddenly so very tired. He sighed and turned away, walking back into the common area.

Shiro reached the small couch and with the last of his flagging strength collapsed back against the cushions.  He closed his eyes against the overhead light and tried to breathe deeply. It was harder than it should have been.  Wincing, he pressed the heel of his hand into his chest just below his right collarbone and moved to the left, wishing it would do something, anything, to release the tension that resided there.  He bit down on the flesh inside his cheek but the jolt of pain did little for the agony consuming him.

Eyes still closed, he heard rather than saw Keith approach.  The soft, shuffling steps of someone approaching an injured animal.   _No…_ “I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro murmured.  “I’m just...a little raw today.”

There was the sound of a shifting body before him and Shiro opened his eyes at last to find Keith perched atop his coffee table, legs crossed before him.  He still clutched the wristband in his pale fist, eyes watchful. “Did she boot you from the mission?” Keith asked him at last, probing.

"Admiral Sanda?  No. She tried," Shiro told him, "and almost succeeded.   _Would have_ succeeded if Commander Holt hadn't been there."  He paused, reflecting back on the heated conversation in his office that morning.  "I think she was primed to medically discharge me today," he said at last.

“She wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, she would,” Shiro assured him.  “Would and could. Every protocol, every policy says I should be, says I should be nowhere near this mission, but…” He swallowed thickly, trying to get the words out but feeling himself being pulled apart by the ache in his heart and the pain in his body.  “I _need_ this.  But I...I don’t know if I…”   _I don’t know if I can do this alone._

Keith was quiet for a time, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.  When he spoke again, he was hesitant. “You told me not too long ago that sometimes we all need a hand.  That asking for help isn’t failure, that needing help isn’t weakness.” He raised his head and met Shiro’s curious gaze and once more offered up the medical band, a peace offering this time.  “Maybe you should consider taking your own damn advice.”

Shiro studied first the device in Keith’s hand, then the young man himself.  Those violet eyes betrayed his unspoken compassion—because with Keith it was always unspoken, Shiro had come to learn—and something about the sight of it broke the last of his resistance.  “You’re something else, you know that?” Shiro said and watched as the cautious kindness was overcome by surprise. Before Keith could respond, he reached forward and took the band from his outstretched hand and, with a final shuddering breath, slid the device into place around his wrist.  

There was a soft electronic whine as the band read his vitals and determined the right course of action.  Against the soft skin of his wrist blossomed the sudden euphoria of relief. Shiro shuddered and groaned, his head dropping back against the couch even as he held his wrist against his chest with his other hand.  Through the haze, he heard Keith’s voice call out to him, uncertain. “I need to…” Shiro heard himself say, but couldn’t form the rest of the words, overcome by the mechanism around his wrist doing its job after too damn long without.  With another groan, he tilted to his right and collapsed fully against the couch.

Keith was on him in a flash, his hands braced against Shiro’s shoulders, his voice sounding too far away.  Struggling against the stimulation that clouded his vision and left him feeling disconnected, Shiro blinked his eyes open to find the cadet wide-eyed and frightened by the reaction.  He tried to wave off his concern, but could only murmur, “It’ll pass, it’ll pass,” before closing his eyes once more.

As he drifted into the ether...Keith was there, the hands on Shiro’s chest and shoulder anchoring him to the present.  And for the first time in a long time...Shiro gave into the vulnerability.


	2. Pacts and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As launch date approaches Matt and Shiro spend some downtime together at the latter’s quarters. The proximity to departure and a fateful exchange with Adam brings the break-up to the forefront of Shiro’s mind, and he counts himself lucky to have friends close by to help him work through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest with you. This chapter was an excuse to play with dialogue while also (1) establishing Matt and Shiro’s friendship, (2) teasing future dynamics between Keith and Shiro and (3) removing Adam as a distraction once and for all. Enjoy~!
> 
> PS: There is a ‘Wingman Matt Holt’ tag and I am _living._

“Put the phone down before you injure something.”  Shiro bit down on the inside of his cheek as his thumbs flew across the keypad on his mobile.  Ignored, Matt Holt tried again from his seat at the bartop counter that bordered the kitchenette.  “Shiro, stop,” he urged, setting his beer down before him.  “The only time you type that fast is when it’s the ex-boyfriend.  Emphasis on ‘ex.’  Whatever you’re typing isn’t going to do any good.” 

Suitably reprimanded, Shiro sighed and tossed his phone aside, silently enjoying how it skittered even further away.  He grabbed the bottle of beer he had set down on a nearby kitchen counter and took a long drink.  If he was honest with himself, he _had_ managed to avoid thinking about Adam until now, what with how focused they had been on mission prep.  But the man had messaged him and...it had all come roaring back with a vengeance.  

It hurt.  A lot. 

Seething, Shiro asked, “Did I ever tell you what he said, when he found out I was still cleared to go?”  Matt shook his head.  “He told me I had to choose between the mission and...and him.  But why does it have to be a choice?”  The question filled him with all the pent up the anger he had suppressed until now and set his teeth on edge.  “Why do _I_ have to be the one that has to make a choice?  Why should I just... _accept_ what’s going to happen to me when I could _fight_ and make my life _mean something_?” 

“And how’s that make you feel?” 

“Pretty fucking pissed.” 

“Good.  Run with that.”  When Shiro looked up to meet his gaze, he found Matt’s eyes cold and hard.  Uncharacteristically so.  “Adam relinquished any say on your happiness when he gave you an ultimatum.  You don’t owe him shit.  And you sure as Hell don’t have to answer when he has the nerve to contact you.   

“You don’t need that shit in your life.  Fuck him,” Matt concluded with utter disdain.  Shiro cocked an eyebrow and shot his friend an appraising look.  He could almost see Matt’s brain re-calibrating.  “Or don’t.  I mean.  Whatever.  I don’t want to judge or anything—” 

“I think that ship has sailed, Matt.” 

“Good! And good riddance,” Matt retorted, the earlier vitriol back in force.  But then there seemed to be a shift between them and Matt waved a hand dismissively.  “You need to make room in your life for Mr. Right to come along anyway.” 

“We're going to Pluto in a month,” Shiro reminded his friend. Thoughts of rebounds and romance were far from his mind; they implied what had been with Adam was well and truly done. Shiro wasn't sure if he was truly ready to embrace that reality, even now. He took a long pull from the beer in his hand. 

“So?” Matt challenged. He then seemed to consider the logistics. “When we get back then. I'm setting up a dating profile and I will be your bouncer, separating wheat from the chaff in the boyfriend department. Pilots need not apply. They're all assholes anyway.” 

“Matt, _I'm_ a pilot.”

“Ah yes, but you are distinctly devoid of assholery.” 

“Yeah, well…” Shiro sighed, not able to meet Matt’s gaze, his thoughts turning bitter as he glanced down at the device strapped to his wrist.  “This Mr. Right of your invention better hurry up.  He’s running out of time.” 

Matt didn’t rise to the bait.  Instead, he suggested, “Who says you haven’t met him already?”  Something in Shiro’s face must have betrayed his hearty skepticism because Matt laughed.  “What, you think there’s a shortage of good looking guys here in the Garrison?  What about Aquino?” 

“Straight.”

“Well shit.  Cheung?” 

“Also straight.” 

“Really?  Damn.  Okay.  Okay.”  Matt grimaced as he considered their options.  “Sasooli?” 

Shiro smirked.  “Pan,” he acknowledged with an approving nod, “but...committed. Monogamously.” 

“Vasquez?” 

At this, Shiro did laugh.  “If I had to date a woman—” 

“Oh wait, that was a suggestion for _me._ Sorry.”  Matt winked at him playfully and finished off the last of his beer.   

Shiro followed suit before tossing both his and Matt’s empty bottles in the bin that sat off to the side and moved to the refrigerator.  Withdrawing two more bottles, he kicked the door shut with his foot, popped the caps with the opener which lay discarded nearby from their earlier round, and passed one of the bottles to his guest.  He ran a dull fingernail over the paper label before taking a long swallow. 

“One day,” Matt said, picking up his original train of thought once more.  “One day, Shiro. Some gorgeous man with great hair and a tight ass is going to sweep you off your feet.  You won’t be looking for it.  It’ll happen when you’re least expecting it.  In fact, I’ll do you one better.”  Matt paused to take a drink before continuing, full of righteous self-assurance.  “Not only will you not be looking, you’re gonna be all, ‘I’m not interested in love. I have far too much shit to deal with right now.’ And then _bam_ —the love of your life.  And when that happens,” he concluded, leaning over the bartop counter that separated him from his friend, “when that happens, you’re going to be all, ‘God damn. Matt was right.’” 

Shiro opened his mouth to respond with a ready retort but was stopped short when his apartment door opened off to his left.  He turned and smiled at the sight of the newcomer.  “Hey Keith,” he greeted as the young man in question kicked off his boots.   

“Do you never get any time to yourself?” Matt asked Shiro.  “Does he have a key or something?” 

Keith promptly replied, deadpan, “No, I pick the lock.  I’m not a fucking amateur.” 

Shiro snorted and nearly choked on his beer as Keith moved around the apartment with practiced ease, sliding onto the barstool next to Matt who eyed him with growing alarm.  “I can’t tell if you’re lying,” Matt informed him while Shiro recovered, coughing.  “Is he lying?” 

“I’m just going to let you wonder about that, Matt,” Shiro told him with a smile.  “He’s got a reputation to keep after all.”  He winked at Keith who gave him a lopsided grin.  Crossing the space that separated them, he set down his beer and crossed his arms on the bartop before leaning forward.  “What can I do for you Keith?  Food?  Company?” 

“Beer?” Matt suggested, raising his bottle in a mock salute.   

At this Keith perked up, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline.  “Can I?” he asked, turning to Shiro.  

Shiro considered the younger man for a time but finally—with some silent but quite visible prodding by Matt—acquiesced.  “Fine.  But you didn’t get it from me,” Shiro told him.  Grabbing his own drink, he retreated back to the refrigerator to pull out a third bottle.   

Behind him, Matt chimed in, “Or me.  Just covering our bases.” 

Shiro shook his head as he he popped the cap off the bottle and passed it over to Keith.  He watched as the cadet took a sip, grimaced, reconsidered, and then took another drink.  Shiro chuckled and leaned back against counter with his own bottle.  “Beverage acquired, why are you here?” 

Keith hummed as he swallowed, as if suddenly remembering.  “Class assignment.  I need help.” 

“What class?” 

“Bio-chem with Commander Holt.” 

At the bartop, Matt snorted.  Shiro hissed between his teeth.  “I will have to tap out on bio-chem, but you have excellent timing.”  He then gestured to Matt who raised his beer in official if belated greeting.  “Keith, this is Matt Holt: Commander Holt’s son and one of the smartest people I know, second only to his father.  Matt, this is Keith Kogane, the cadet I’ve been mentoring.  He’s also in the pilot program.”  He let them shake hands and added, “Matt was _my_ tutor on bio-chem, so you’re in good hands.” 

“You had a tutor?” Keith asked, sounding surprised. 

“Oh yeah,” Matt assured.  “Shiro has physics down just fine.  Terminal velocity and force of gravity and glide paths and whatever.  But anything that eats, grows, or decays was way out of his league.” 

“And I didn’t even bother with geology.” 

“Because you would’ve looked at all the samples and said, ‘Yep that’s a rock.’” 

“Would I have been wrong?” Shiro challenged, grinning.   

Matt only rolled his eyes and sighed with dramatic disappointment.  “Fucking pilots,” he muttered under his breath. 

“So you...got the instructor’s _son_ to teach you?” Keith prompted, sounding highly suspicious. 

Matt took a pull from his beer and grinned.  “Ah, I like him.  He’s a smart one,” he said to Shiro.  Turning back to Keith, he explained, “Shiro surrounded himself with strategic friendships when he was a cadet.  You don’t have to be friends with _everyone_ , but be sure the right ones are friends with _you_.   

“But here’s the thing about strategic friendships like that,” Matt told him. “Sometimes, those strategic friendships turn into _real_ friendships.”  Not taking his eyes off Keith, he raised his beer with a grin.  Shiro smiled to himself and readily reached forward to tap his own against the offered bottle, the glass clinking pleasantly in a friendly toast.   

“And with _real_ friendships, comes knowing all the dirt on said friends.  I just happen to attach algorithms to Shiro’s latest bullshit.”  Shiro for his part groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Matt pressed on, unimpeded.  “You see Keith, I have a theory—”

“Here we go…” 

“—that any time you get more than two pilots in a room, the level of asshole increases exponentially.” 

“That’s an interesting theory,” Keith told him, straight-faced and without hesitation, “but I’m one hundred percent asshole all the time.” 

“No you’re not—” Shiro protested. 

Keith pointedly ignored him. “Just ask anyone in my class.  So.  If we continue this logic, and I’m exactly one cubic unit of ‘asshole—’” he said, raising his hands to just over his head, “—then _at most_ Shiro could ever be is…” Keith closed an eye, faced Shiro, and extended his hands forward as if he was eyeballing his height against his mentor, “three-quarters asshole.” 

“‘Only three-quarters asshole,’” Matt laughed.  “I think we just got the by-line for your dating profile, Shiro.” 

Keith’s eyes went wide. _“Your what?”_  

Shiro balked.  To Keith, he instructed, “Ignore him,” moments before turning his attention on Matt, demanding, “Shut up.” 

His friend was too busy laughing to take his demands seriously, however.  “What makes Takashi Shirogane so attractive?  Is it his wit?  His charm?  That smoldering charcoal gaze?” 

“Matt—” 

“Perhaps the world will never know.  Because he’s still...three-quarters asshole.” 

“And yet, I put up with you,” Shiro mused, feigning exasperation.  “Why is that?  Why do I keep you around?  Why are you still here?  To torment me?”  Catching a snickering Keith in his sights, he added, “And don’t you have homework to do?” 

Keith sobered instantly, his face falling.  “Oh, right…” 

Shiro let him stew for a long moment, but then said, “Tell you what.  If I feed you both, will you ease off?  For like...twenty minutes?”  He caught and held Keith’s gaze once more and offered a reassuring smile. 

“Yeah, I think we can do that,” the cadet answered with a small smile of his own. 

Matt clapped his hands together.  “We’ll give you thirty.”  Waving at Keith’s until-now forgotten pack, he said, “Grab your books.  Let's see what you got, _Bro-_ gane Number Two.” 

True to their words, the pair of them left Shiro alone while he raided his refrigerator for ingredients.  As he prepped dinner, he cast curious glances over his shoulder at his guests, watched Matt explain whatever topics his father was instructing with wild abandon and was pleased to see Keith following.  No glazed looks or stoic professionalism, which was a relief.  But then, Matt was just irreverent enough that he had already gotten through Keith’s defenses...much as he had with Shiro’s own so many years ago.  The memory made him smile. 

They spent the rest of the evening enjoying one another’s company and Shiro let the lingering ache in his chest settle and fade.  It was easier to do now, when faced with Matt’s playful ribbing and Keith’s earnest smiles.  _It matters_ , he realized, feeling something like hope blossom in his belly.   _It means something_.   

“Well, gentlemen,” Matt began with grandiose aplomb as the night drew to a close.  “Homework is done.  Food has been eaten.  Beers have been imbibed...perhaps some more so than others, and with good reason,” he added eyeing Keith’s still largely untouched bottle.  “Epiphanies have been realized,” he continued, closing with, “I think we should have a toast!” 

“A toast?” Keith asked while Shiro chuckled.  “To what?” 

Matt considered this for a moment.  When he spoke, the words were laden with meaning as he raised his beer.  “To Kerberos.”  

Shiro’s laughter died in his throat as he met Matt’s all-too-sober brown eyes.  Before he could respond, however, Keith raised his own bottle.  “To Kerberos.”

Shiro turned his eyes from one to the other.  Words unspoken, pacts made.  Again the intrusive thought, _It means something_.  Swallowing back the sudden groundswell of emotion, he breathed deep and raised his drink.  “To Kerberos,” he echoed. 


	3. Escape Velocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days before launch, the crew of the Kerberos Mission spend time with the people who matter most to them. Shiro negotiates 24-hours of block leave for both himself and Keith and the two of them spend the day running amok together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa two chapters in one weekend! We're almost off to the post-Kerberos races. Would love to hear what you guys think so far! :3

Iverson glared at him.  But then, he glared at everyone.  “I don’t like it.” 

“With all due respect, Sir,” Shiro began, “you don’t have to like it, per se.  Command’s granted the crew twenty-four hours of block leave—” 

“To spend time with their family,” Iverson interjected.   

“The Holts will spend the day together, yes,” Shiro conceded.  “But I don’t _have_ any immediate family, and the person I’d like to spend the day with is under your command.”  He took a step forward as Iverson considered him in that way Shiro knew meant the older man was seeing his younger self, the bright-eyed cadet in orange.  “Twenty-four hours.  That’s all I ask.”  

Iverson held his gaze but eventually huffed and acquiesced.  “Fine.  Fine,” he said, “but he’ll have to make up the training time—” 

“He will, Sir,” Shiro answered.  “Guaranteed.” 

“Then we have a deal,” Iverson acknowledged.  The man stretched out a hand, which Shiro readily accepted and shook.  “I’ll release him at 12:00 tomorrow after drills, send him to the flightline to meet you.  But _not a word_ to him,” he added, shaking a finger at Shiro as they parted.  “I need him focused until then.” 

“Understood,” Shiro answered grinning.  “Thank you, Sir,” he added for good measure as Iverson waved him away and took a seat behind his desk.  Retreating from the man’s office, Shiro checked his watch and initiated a new countdown. 

***** 

“Cadet, the flightline’s off-limits. Where’s your unit commander?” 

“He _sent_ me here!” 

“Hudson, he’s with me,” [1] Shiro called to the man blocking Keith’s access as he jogged up to the pair.  He flashed an easy smile and clapped the other man on the shoulder when he reached him, hoping to allay concerns.  Only then did the guard step aside, albeit with no small amount of lingering suspicion aimed at Keith, whose troublesome reputation on-base was clearly spreading. Potential crisis averted, Shiro turned his attention fully to Keith who now stood unobstructed before him. 

The young man glared up at him and spoke before Shiro himself could.  “Why didn’t you say anything about this yesterday?” 

Shiro had to laugh.  Combative as always.  “Because Iverson made me promise not to,” he answered, slinging an arm across the younger man’s shoulders and steering them out toward the launch pad.  “I had to trade today at the expense of more sim time,” Shiro told him. 

Keith shrugged, dismissive. “I don’t mind extra time in the simulator.” 

“Well, see…” Shiro began, leaning in close as if sharing some secret, “ _you_ know that, and _I_ know that, but _Iverson_ doesn’t know that.  He still remembers that day you broke formation and punched Griffin in the face.” 

“He had it coming.” 

Shiro snorted and shook his head.  He now knew what had started the fight in the first place and couldn’t really fault Keith for going on the attack.  “I’m supposed to argue that point but I’m too close to launch time to bother wasting the oxygen.  We’ll just say I did.”   

As they reached the _Odysseus_ [2] Shiro slipped further away from the younger man, but found he wasn’t quite able to release him entirely and let his hand linger on Keith’s shoulder as they stared up at the ship together.  “Fastest ship anyone’s ever built,” Shiro told him.  “Means we’ll get to Pluto in a number of months rather than years.  No one’s ever been that far—” 

“Yet,” Keith corrected.   

Shiro turned back to find the younger man smiling up at him with something that looked like pride.  The honest trust and confidence in those violet eyes was staggering.  The sight of it twisted his insides into knots and made his heart ache with something bittersweet.  “Want to see the cockpit?”  

Keith’s smile brightened.  “Can we?” 

“Come on,” Shiro urged and the headed toward the scaffolding where the platform chief hovered near the elevator.  “Morales,” Shiro called over to the woman.  “Mind if I take him up?” 

The woman glanced over at Keith who was all but vibrating at Shiro’s side with nervous energy.  To Shiro, she said, “I haven’t run final calibration, so go right ahead.  Don’t fuck anything up, though.  Neither of us have time for a last-minute ‘oops,’ Shirogane.” 

“Roger that,” Shiro acknowledged and made a beeline for the lift, Keith hot on his heels.  He then shut the gate once they were both inside and ascended before the chief could change her mind.  At the apex, they exited out onto the bridge connecting the lift to the cockpit itself.  Enveloped in a decontamination shield, machinations and vents whirred around them as they walked forward.   

Once at the cockpit itself, Shiro waved Keith ahead of him.  The young man grinned and climbed into the pilot’s seat with transparent excitement.  It made his heart swell and Shiro fought a wide grin of his own.  “Hit the green button,” Shiro instructed from the hatch once Keith was settled.   

The young man stretched an arm forward toward the large green button and— 

 _“No, not that one!”_  

Keith froze, his eyes bulging and frightened.

Shiro promptly doubled over and laughed so hard his eyes watered.   

As he struggled to regain his composure, he heard Keith hiss, “You’re such an asshole.”    

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Shiro insisted.  “I just couldn’t resist.  Go ahead.” 

Keith rolled his eyes and pressed the green button as instructed.  The screens before them came alive and Shiro watched the orange light play over Keith’s face as he took in the display.  “This is your flight plan,” Keith observed with subdued reverence.  Shifting in the pilot’s seat, he stretched out a hand out to touch the display but hesitated at the last minute, casting a questioning over his shoulder at Shiro.   

“Go on,” Shiro encouraged with nod as he climbed inside and slid easily into the co-pilot’s seat. 

Confident now, Keith’s hands ghosted over the screens, tracing the flight path from Earth to Kerberos.  He studied every gravitational slingshot, every fuel burn, every transmission point.  It was a good plan, one Shiro and Commander Holt had worked together to maximize their own solar system to their favor.  He watched Keith’s eyes devour the data with rapt attention.  

“I wish I could go with you,” Keith said at last, his hands dropping into his lap, the light from the screens before them casting his face in stark relief in the dim cockpit. 

“One day you will,” Shiro answered without hesitation. 

Keith worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, considering his mentor’s certainty.  “You really believe that?” he asked softly, finally turning his questing eyes to meet Shiro’s steady gaze.  “You really think I could do it?” 

“I look forward to it,” Shiro told him, dropping a hand on Keith’s shoulder.   

“And you’re not just saying that?” 

Shiro huffed a laugh, tamping down the seed of doubt that had sprouted in his belly at the question.  This wasn’t about him.  “Keith, not only do I look forward to flying with you, but I look forward to being _your_ co-pilot.  You will surpass me.”  Keith opened his mouth to object and Shiro pressed ahead.  “You already have,” he told him.  “Your scores are better than mine were as a cadet.  Your skills aren’t the issue, and arguably they never were: you’re a natural.  You need to _trust._ Yourself, your gut, other people...me.” 

“I _do_ trust you.” 

“Then believe me when I tell you that you’re going to be the best pilot Earth’s ever seen.”  Shiro watched color creep into Keith’s cheeks as he looked away.  He let the admission roll over them, reverberating off of the cockpit walls, let Keith slowly embrace it with guarded hope.  At last, he tapped Keith’s shoulder and said, “Chief is gonna want to start running the final diagnostics.  Let’s get going.” 

“Going where?” Keith asked as they both climbed out of the cockpit and onto the bridge.   

“We’ve got till 1200 tomorrow before either of us have to report to anyone of authority.  Figured we’d grab the bikes, blow curfew, camp out in the canyon.”  He chanced a glance at the cadet and was pleased to see that all of those ideas were good ideas, judging from Keith’s wide-eyed excitement.  “But first,” he clarified as they stepped onto the lift, “I need to run into town for some mission essentials.  You want to come with?” 

“Well, yeah,” Keith told him as they descended.  “Sure beats waiting on-base for you to come back.” 

***** 

“When you said ‘mission essentials’ I thought you meant something cool,” Keith told him, “not...this.” 

Shiro turned to watch Keith wave his arm dismissively before him, taking in the rows and rows of colored candy.  He laughed and pivoted on his heel to walk backwards as they progressed down one of the aisles.  “Command _never_ provides anything that can’t be found in the mess and both of us know that that selection is sorely lacking.  First thing you learn about space missions: you are allotted one and a half pounds of stuff that can fit into your Personal Preference Kit, so you better make it count.”  Information relayed, he relished the exasperated look Keith gave him and pivoted back around laughing. 

“You’re ridiculous, you realize that?” Keith intoned as he came up beside him. 

“Hey, I guarantee the Holts will be here too.  Matt _never_ leaves orbit without that fruit tape stuff.  And the Commander has a fondness for Snickers bars.” 

Keith sighed dramatically.  “At least they have taste.” 

“I have taste.” 

“For an alien, maybe,” Keith retorted side-eyeing Shiro’s growing stash.  “Why do you have so many Necco Wafers? [3] They taste like chalk.  They’re gross.” 

“You’re gross.” 

There was a beat and then Keith responded, incredulous, “Seriously?  That’s the best you can do Shirogane?” which earned a hearty laugh from Shiro himself. 

Supplies secured, they made their way back to the front of the store where Shiro passed the bag he had been loading over to the cashier.  The young woman weighed it—1.5 pounds exactly—and Shiro paid, heading to the door.  

Once outside, Shiro twisted the bag more tightly closed and eyeballed the bulk.  “I’d say that’ll fit into a five-by-eight-by-two bag, yeah?  Mostly?”   

“Mostly,” Keith concurred, coming up beside him.  “You’ll probably have to eat some of it down.” 

“No objection to that,” Shiro answered as he untwisted the bag and pulled out one of the packets of colored, pressed candy discs.  With great ceremony he popped one of them into his mouth and chuckled at Keith’s obvious disgust.  “Don’t be so judgmental,” he ordered and slung and arm around Keith’s shoulders.  Steering them toward the rover, he added, “Come on.  We have to get back to base to grab your stuff and the bikes before someone else has the same idea.” 

***** 

“You’re a little early for your usual run, aren’t you?” asked the garage boss as Shiro wandered into the hangar, pack slung over his shoulders and goggles dangling around his neck.  Seeming to put pieces together, the older man grinned and said, “Ah, pre-launch block leave, eh?  When you bringing the bike back?” 

Shiro grinned and greeted the man with a firm handshake once he was within reach to do so.  “Bikes, plural,” he corrected.  “And tomorrow morning, if that’s alright.” 

The man tugged at Shiro's hand and brought him in close enough to clap him on the shoulder.  “You’re lucky you're a regular. There are others I wouldn’t trust to take it down the road to the main gate.”   Catching sight of Keith who loitered nearby, the older man then called over.  "You're him aren't you?"

Keith's eyes darted between his mentor and the garage boss, bristling somewhat.  "'Him' who?"

"The only one here at the Garrison who's crazy enough to ride that canyon track with Shiro," the man answered readily enough.  "Since he started taking two bikes out we've been taking bets here in the shop on who was enough of a nutcase to keep up with him."

"As if it's hard?" Keith retorted with a smirk, the tension in his shoulders easing.

The garage boss chuckled.  "You maniacs deserve each other.  Have fun out there, and don't die."  He clapped Shiro on the shoulder once more and withdrew, casting only a final word of caution at them, "And bring the bikes back in one piece!"

They strapped their packs down and gunned the engines.  Shiro paused only to drop his goggles into place and caught Keith in the corner of his eye tying a bandana around his face moments before the two of them peeled out of the nearby base gates like they were fleeing the scene of a crime.  Shiro didn't bother checking behind him; he knew Keith was there.  

The bikes kicked up clouds of dust as they roared across the desert, chasing one another under the brilliant blue sky overhead.  Passing and surpassing, taking and overtaking, daring one another to do better, to do worse.  Going over a fateful cliffside, Keith had managed to get ahead of him by careening his bike straight over Shiro’s head.  It had been terrifying and utterly exhilarating. 

Later, after they had burned hours from the day, Shiro had led them down another ravine and coasted to a stop.  As Keith brought his own bike up next to his and cut the engine, Shiro commended him.  “Nice dive earlier.  Too bad you still lost.” 

Keith tugged down the bandana and ran his hands through his tousled hair.  “One of these days, Shiro,” he said with an air of defiance, “one of these days you’ll eat _my_ dust for once.” 

Shiro chuckled and removed his goggles, letting them dangle around his neck as he dropped down off of his bike.  Grabbing the canteen from the pack he strapped down to the back, he motioned for Keith to do the same and headed down to the creek bed up ahead of them. 

At the water’s edge, Shiro knelt down and dipped his hands into the cool water then splashed his face, scrubbing away the dirt that had caked onto his skin from their extended run.  Then grabbing his canteen once more, he ducked the mouth under the water and let it fill.  

As Keith came up beside him, he seemed to remember something.  “I never thanked you for packing food for me for the field exercise last week,” Keith said as he unscrewed the cap to his own water bottle and went about filling it. “You’re a pretty good cook.” 

Shiro smiled as he sat back against the rock embankment.  He took a long swallow from the water in his canteen while he stretched his long legs out before him to cross at his ankles.  He then shrugged, downplaying the praise.  “I try.  Besides, the mentors packing meals for their cadets for the exercise is a bit of a tradition.”

“Yeah?” As he screwed the cap back on his own canteen, Keith straightened and closed the distance between them, dropping down on the warm rock nearby.  Something devilish arose in his smile.  “Most of the cadets got shit.” 

“That is _also_ tradition,” Shiro assured him. 

Keith laughed.  “So why didn’t you pack _me_ shit?” 

“Maybe because I don’t believe in packing shit for my cadet?  I’m just that nice of a guy.” 

The younger man saw right through him.  “What did your mentor pack _you_?” 

Shiro fought a grin as he lifted his canteen to his lips once more.  “Ah, well...that would be...cabbage.” 

“Cabbage.” 

“Yes.” 

“Just cabbage?” 

Shiro nodded.  “Yeah, a whole head of it,” he said and raised his hands, one of them still clutching his canteen, to demonstrate something that was roughly the size of his own head.  “Two, actually, come to think of it.  I ate like a rabbit for days.”  At this, Keith’s head dropped back on his shoulders as he laughed so hard he eventually collapsed backwards.  Shiro grinned.  “You laugh, but that second one came in handy when I ran into a rattlesnake.” 

“Please,” Keith gasped, “ _please_ tell me you hit and ate the snake.”

“No, not exactly.  My—uh, my aim was not as good back then.”  Shiro felt a faint blush creep into his cheeks at the memory.  “Imagine, if you will, a very startled teenager letting loose a disturbingly shrill cry and haphazardly chucking the remains of what is supposed to be his dinner at the local fauna.”  His admission earning even more laughter from Keith, the younger man clutching his sides as he started to wheeze.  “The snake got away just fine, for the record,” he was quick to assure.  “My pride was another matter.” 

Drawing his legs up, Shiro leaned forward to brace his elbows against his knees and let the canteen dangle between his fingertips.  He couldn’t have hoped for a better send off, he mused and tilted his head back to stare up into the cloudless sky.  He let his eyes drift shut and listened to breeze striking the walls of the ravine overhead, the running water before them, the laughter next to him…  For as much as he longed to see the stars, Earth certainly had its appeal.  

At last he opened his eyes once more and turned down to face Keith, who had almost fully recovered.  “If you’re done laughing at my expense, I think we should probably find a place to make camp before we lose the light.” 

***** 

They had found some flat outcropping upstream that was wide enough for both the bikes, the tent, and a fire and spent the remaining sunlight making camp. They worked as a team pulling together dinner, exchanging friendly barbs as they were wont to do. As the the sun dipped below the horizon and the starfield creeped in, they settled in for the night before the fire which crackled and popped with dry wood. 

Inevitably, Shiro brought up Keith's classmates. He couldn't not, he told himself, knowing full well the pushback he'd get. 

“You said I’d be the best,” Keith challenged, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his response.   

“I did.  But being the best isn’t enough,” Shiro replied.  “Take this mission, for example.  I could get us there and back, sure.  But the mission’s success depends on Commander Holt and Matt getting the job done.  It’s a team effort.  No one person is expendable.  No one person has all the answers.  We work together, or the mission fails. 

“My point is that no one ever goes it alone,” Shiro continued.  “So make the attempt.  That’s all I’m asking.  When I get back, I expect good scores in _both_ your drills and your sim time.  But more importantly, I want to know you have made friends with other people in your class.  Who knows.  Maybe someone in there is ‘best friend’ material if you give them a chance.”  Shiro paused to consider Keith’s classmates.  “What about Lance?  Or Hunk?” 

Keith snorted derisively.  “Lance talks too much.  And Hunk is a coward.” 

“And decent guys from what I’ve heard.  Besides, space is unforgiving,” Shiro cautioned.  “Having a healthy dose of fear makes you human and is often what keeps you alive when things go south.” 

“But you’re _never_ afraid,” Keith challenged him.  “You never would have done what you’ve done if you let yourself be afraid.” 

Shiro had to smile.  Turning to look at the other man, he confessed, “Keith I have been afraid more times than I can count.  The key is to acknowledge it, and then get above it, around it, overcome it.  Fix this immediate problem, and then the next, and the next, and the next until you’re safe.  Until you’re home.  Being afraid means you have an ounce of self-preservation, and when faced with the option always choose self-preservation over pride.” 

Keith turned his eyes back to Shiro, appearing suitably chastised.  “So...you’re telling me I should be afraid and make friends.”  Shiro shot him a smile and nodded.  Keith sighed, as if he had been put out by some outlandish inconvenience.  “I’ll take it under advisement.” 

They laughed easily enough at first, but then the quiet that followed became...heavy. Sensing something going awry, Shiro prompted, “Keith?” 

“I’m going to miss you, you know,” Keith murmured, his eyes downcast while his fingers twisted themselves in his lap. 

“I’m not going to be gone _that_ long,” Shiro assured him.  “Four months on the outside.  You can stay out of trouble without me at least for that long, right?” 

“It’s not that,” Keith told him, still not meeting his eyes.  “It’s…”  The young man couldn’t seem to find the words he was grasping for, so ducked his face away from the light of the fire.  He bent his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, curling into himself.  “I know you’re excited,” Keith murmured, the guilt heavy in his voice.  “I just...I…” 

“Hey,” Shiro began but found he wasn't sure what to say. Instead, he stood and moved closer to the cadet, sitting down beside him, but was careful not to touch him.  After a long pause, he offered some quiet reassurance. “I'm coming back.” 

Keith turned his eyes on him and there was something cold and bitter in them, a deep-seated distrust that had reared its head once more after so long. Shiro saw it for what it was and swore to himself he'd find a way to banish it once and for all. 

“Promise?” Keith asked him, his eyes searching. 

“I promise,” Shiro told him with all the weight of truth he could manage. 

Keith must have found the answers he was looking for. He unwound his limbs and leaned into Shiro, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his cheek into his shoulder. Shiro raised an arm to embrace the cadet and held him close as Keith rode out the turmoil in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Easter Egg for the Aliens fans
> 
> [2] Many thanks [NoirSongbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirSongbird/) and [ineedashiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucksnatalia/pseuds/ineedashiro) for the appropriately nerdy, mythological, and eerily fitting ship name suggestion!
> 
> [3] Suspended disbelief everyone. Necco Wafers have been around since 1847 are consistently ranked one of the worst Halloween candies to get.
> 
> **Finally,[Vil](https://twitter.com/Confusedswede01/) was kind enough to do a piece for this chapter, which you can see [over here on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Confusedswede01/status/1150723388299730945).**


	4. Terminal Velocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing he remembered was being injected with...something as he pleaded with the Garrison personnel in hazmat gear to just _listen_ to him, that they were _coming_ , that they had to find it—Voltron—before the Galra could. And then...darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaand after that dose of fluff earlier, the pain is back. :3

Out of the blue, and into the black. 

And then screaming clarity, hurtling back into the present.   

Disoriented, Shiro bolted upright against restraints that no longer held him.  Disjointed words tumbled from his lips as he pleaded with faceless men who were nowhere to be found. Eyes wide and bewildered, he caught sight of a figure coming towards him with hands raised in supplication. "Easy, easy, easy..." Shuddering and recoiling, Shiro blinked back the haze that clouded his vision until he could focus once more.

Keith stood before him, hands outstretched and offered in support. The room around them was a far cry from the sterile one he had first awoken in after the crash, lit only by a dim lamp off in the corner and cluttered with boxes. But what should have been a comforting change only worsened his confusion. What had happened? How long had he been out? How did he get here? Where was he—?

 _Voltron!_ The word blasted into his conscious mind like a flash-bang. Shiro groaned and buried his face in his hands. They had to—they had to find it. Because they were coming. The Galra were coming. The Galra—who made him fight, who took his arm. His arm—!  The feel of it registered on his face then, the cool metal juxtaposed against his left hand. His ears picked up a broken sound coming from some wounded thing. Only when Keith's arms found him did Shiro realize it had come from himself. 

Shiro dropped his hands from his face then and grabbed Keith’s shoulders. Training his eyes on the younger man, he gasped, the word strangled in his throat, “Run!” 

Keith stared down at him in cold fear and asked, “Where?” 

That was the question, wasn’t it?  Where, where, where, where… Nowhere.  There was nowhere to run.  They’d come.  For all he knew, they were already coming.  How much time did they have?  Not enough.  Never enough. 

And Keith!  Keith would be here!  Shiro couldn’t let them have him.  He _wouldn’t_ let them have him.  He’d go back into the arena, he’d fight however many monsters they wanted him to fight, he’d _let them_ turn him into a monster.  So long as—his vision started to blur—so long as—his body shook as he clung to Keith, something solid and comforting and _doomed_ —so long as—he groaned again as the world spun around him and he collapsed forward into Keith’s waiting arms. 

The tunnel vision returned as Keith held him and Shiro felt the telltale rise of bile in the back of his throat. “Head,” he ground out through clenched teeth.   

Keith shifted their combined weight and leveraged them up and off the bed wrapping an arm around Shiro’s waist.  With an arm slung over Keith’s narrow shoulders, they stumbled into the connected bathroom.  Shiro then slipped from Keith's hands and dropped before the toilet into which he was promptly sick. 

“Probably the sedatives they pumped you full of,” Keith said from his vantage point above him.  There was the sound of tap running off to Shiro’s left and then something cool at the back of his neck, a familiar presence pressed close, a hand at his shoulder.   

Shiro drew his left hand up to pillow his forehead against the edge of the bowl and kept his eyes closed until the urge to retch subsided.  He then reached blindly overhead with his right hand in search of the flush lever.  His fingertips clinked against the porcelain before the sound was overcome by running water.   

“What happened to you?” 

The question, quiet and mournful though it was, hurt like a blow.  Shiro pulled his right arm back toward his torso, cradling it against his chest.  The hand on his shoulder squeezed once, though whether it was in apology or reassurance he didn’t know.  Didn’t care.  It had been so long since someone had touched him without violence he almost cried out.  

“What do you need?” 

Finding his voice once more, Shiro answered hoarsely, “A toothbrush.”  He spat once more into the bowl for emphasis then sat back on his heels.  Reaching up to the back of his neck, he took the cloth Keith had draped there moments before in-hand as he added, “And a shower.” 

A pause, and then, “Do you need me to—?” 

“No,” Shiro answered, finally opening his eyes and turning his gaze on Keith who made no attempt to hide his concern.  He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.  It felt fragmented.  _He_ felt fragmented.  “I’ll be alright,” he said.  Keith nodded, but hesitated as if he was still reluctant to leave.  Seeking to shake him out of his reverie, Shiro asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have any clothes that might fit, would you?” 

At last, Keith returned a small smile.  “As it happens...” He turned to leave but then stopped short.  With a murmured, “Oh,” he turned back and withdrew a toothbrush and a crumpled tube of toothpaste from a drawer, placing both next to the sink.  “I’ll be right back,” Keith said then and slipped from the room. 

Shiro closed his eyes and breathed, tried to quell the roiling fear in his belly.  He reached up with his left hand and clasped the edge of the sink, hauling himself up to his unsteady feet.  When he caught his reflection in the mirror, however, all the air in his lungs escaped in a rush.  He leaned forward over the sink to study the face before him.  Marked.  Flawed.  He first reached out toward the mirror but then with a trembling hand touched his own face instead, running his fingertips over the scar the spanned his nose and cheeks...then upward to the shock of white hair.   

The bathroom door opened once more and Shiro watched as Keith’s reflection stepped just inside the room, standing behind him with an armful of clothes.  Their eyes met through the mirror, but Shiro found he was unable to hold that questing gaze for long.  Straightening, he explained.  “I figured, but...didn’t realize the extent.  Didn’t know about the hair.” 

Keith considered him in silence a moment longer before nodding and stepping closer.  He set the clothes down on the counter next to the sink.  Withdrawing, his lips parted to say something and then—seeming to think better of it—snapped his mouth shut.  Taking the doorknob in-hand, he told Shiro, “I’ll be right outside.  If you need anything,” and retreated, closing the door behind him. 

Alone once more, Shiro brushed his teeth and then gave his reflection a final parting glance before he stepped away from the sink and undressed, the black astrosuit peeling away like a second skin.  He studied the scars under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent light, some he remembered all too clearly, others less so.  Crisscrossing marks, a few stray burns, a cluster of circular wounds at his hip… And the arm.  Shiro studied it, turned it over and around in the room’s unforgiving light.  He felt his throat clench against disjointed flashes of memories and pain and forced himself to look away. 

Crossing to the shower, he turned on the water and hastily stepped under the spray.  Shiro closed his eyes and sighed, listing to the side to lean against the shower tiles.  The water was hot and _real_ , comforting as it sluiced over his skin.  He took several steadying breaths and pushed away from the wall once more.  Running his hands over his face and through his hair, he felt the world around him right itself, felt himself become more human as he scrubbed the dirt and grime of however long away.  He stood under the spray until the water ran cold and left him shivering.  

Finally turning off the water, Shiro toweled himself dry and pulled on the clothes Keith had left him.  Thankfully, they fit.  He glanced down with disdain at the remnants of his earlier attire and swallowed thickly against the sour taste in his throat.  He then bent to collect the astrosuit and tossed it into the garbage without ceremony. 

Shiro then turned at last to leave and clasped the door handle but paused, leaning in close.  He didn’t hear anything on the other side, so slowly pulled the door open and found the bedroom on the other side empty.  Well...not empty.  Boxes were stacked two or three high, lining the far wall.  A table lamp stood precariously on top of one such pile, casting a warm glow throughout the room.  Off to his left was a bed, sheets still rumpled from earlier.  _Keith?_  The young man was noticeably absent.   

Tamping down the spike of fear that shot through his belly, Shiro crossed the room to the far door.  Once again, he paused and leaned close.  _Voices_ , he registered.  And then, _Outnumbered_.  Shiro shook his head at the intrusive thought.  Pressing a hand against the door, the wood grain rough under his calloused fingers, he listened. 

“You should leave,” Keith said from the other side, sounding tired and frustrated. Defensive. 

“Nope. No way,” another voice replied from further away. “Not after all of that.” 

“We’re in _way more_ trouble than if we had just broken curfew. I'm not in any particular hurry to find out how _much_ more, personally. Especially not after what happened last night. Those were _instructors_ , you guys! We are _so_ not going to get away with this…” 

“Shiro was on the Kerberos Mission,” added a third unknown and noticeably calmer speaker, sounding...younger. Oddly hopeful. “Maybe he can tell us what happened to the rest of the crew. We should at least hear what he has to say.” 

 _Matt. Sam._  Shiro wracked his brain for clues, for something. Anything. People needed him to remember. They had to get the Holts back, but...but from where?  What...what had happened?  Why couldn't he remember?  Why weren't they with him?  Closing his eyes, he shuddered. Purple light and dim hallways and roars of the crowd and so much blood and pain and death and… 

A strangled sound escaped him as he stumbled backward away from the door. _Out! Get out!_ Turning, he searched for an escape and found it in a screen door connected to the bedroom. He fled through it, the metal slamming against the frame making no secret of his departure. 

Once outside, Shiro scanned the horizon, lined with flat-topped mesas in the distance, trees struggling in the lowlands.  The desert air _tasted_ familiar as he breathed it in.  The grit that the low breeze kicked about his ankles was known, understood.  In the east the sun was rising. 

The sun… Entranced with the color that crept with languid intent across the sky, Shiro walked forward toward it, crossing his arms over his chest against the night’s lingering chill.  He stopped moving only once he’d reached the apex of some small hill.  His legs wouldn’t carry him further, he knew, but here—here on this small patch of dirt on the planet he thought he’d never see again—here he could stand and watch the sun rise.  He drank it in, his eyes hungry for the colors, desperate for the star to burn away the vestiges of twilight indigo. 

As the sky painted itself in rose and gold, hinting of the vibrant blue to come, he let his eyes drift down to his right arm.  He extended it out away from his torso, contemplated it, and felt oddly divorced from the fear which had driven him away from the shack behind him. 

 _Behind_.  At the thought, Shiro’s ears picked up the sound of someone approaching.  Just one.  One who didn’t bother masking his approach.  _Keith…_  Taking a deep breath, Shiro schooled his face into some semblance of calm as a hand touched his shoulder and Keith joined him at his side. 

“It’s good to have you back,” Keith murmured, cautious and probing but no less sincere. 

Shiro offered him a weak smile. “It’s good to be back.”


	5. Safety in Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had formed Voltron once before, so it _was_ theoretically possible for the five of them to work together but Shiro was starting to think it was more an exception to the rule. At his wit’s end, he retreats to his quarters to take a moment to recenter himself. Keith joins him shortly after.

They had formed Voltron once before, so it _was_ theoretically possible.  This much Shiro knew, but he’d be damned if he knew how to get them all to do it again.  The Princess was losing patience with them and every day that ticked by was another day lost in the fight against Zarkon.  This he also knew, as did the others judging by their collective short tempers.  Moments before the latest spat had gotten physical, he had stepped in and ordered them all to just... _rest._  

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Allura had asked him, but her voice had lacked the challenge he had come to associate with their failed attempts to replicate what had happened on the battlefield. 

“We’re no good to anyone exhausted,” Shiro had answered.  “Least of all each other.”  Turning to the paladins he instructed, “Everyone get some sleep.  We’ll start again tomorrow.”  He had watched the others retire, departing the bridge in a wave before turning to look back on their Altean host.  “That goes for you as well, Princess.”  She had offered him a tired smile by way of reply before they too parted ways. 

Once Shiro reached his own quarters in the castle, he stepped into the dark room and fell back against the door, his strength flagging.  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, counting to five as he did so.  Pushing away from the door, he crossed to the opposite side of the room and pressed his back into the wall.  He then slid down to the floor and crossed his legs before him.  A familiar position— _No, don’t think about that_ —but it was too late.  Memories came to him of hours spent alone in a dim cell, his back against the wall so that his captors couldn’t catch him off-guard.  Shiro clenched his teeth and thudded his head against the wall behind him once, twice.  _Stop it.  It’s over.  You’re out._ He expelled another breath, this time between his teeth as the memories faded once more.   

It was then that the door to his quarters slid open with a hiss.  For one terrifying moment, the past and present blurred.  Shiro’s skin crawled and his eyes shot open, readying himself for them to drag him away again...but then his eyes focused on the new arrival.  Keith stood in the doorway, backlit by the bright lights in the hallway.  Shiro released the breath he had been holding as a deep sigh and let his head drop back against the wall, closing his eyes. 

The door hissed shut once more and the sound of footsteps approaching met his ears.  From somewhere above him, Keith said, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Shiro echoed.  He kept his eyes closed and focused on the steady rhythm of the heart in his chest, the expansion and depression of his ribs as he breathed.   

There was the sound of a body shifting and then Keith spoke again, now closer to his level than before.  “How are you feeling?”  The question was probing, hesitant.  

“Whatever Coran cooked up in the medical suite is taking the edge off the worst of the disease, so that’s good.  But you know what _hurts_?  My elbow.  My _right_ elbow.”  Shiro opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling overhead.  “I keep telling myself that’s not possible but...well, brains can be dumb.  Takes ‘em awhile, sometimes.” 

Shiro bit down on the flesh inside his cheek, the sharp pain a distraction and little else.  The nervous tension that had marked Keith’s entrance had dissipated some, for which he was grateful.  He let his mind wander as a familiar silence settled between them. 

“It’s funny,” Shiro mused after a time.  “The Garrison spends so much time training you for contingencies in space.  Rapid decompression, losing comms, getting blown out an airlock… But they don’t tell you how to deal with being captured by hostile alien species.  Getting experimented on…” He clenched his right fist, the metal clinking and whirring in the otherwise quiet room.  “Finding out you’re a defender of the universe…”   

Shiro took a deep breath and used the moment to ground himself.  He focused on the wall against his back, the cool metal paneling beneath him, and Keith’s quiet presence which hovered just outside of arm’s reach.  Eventually he said, “I need you and Lance to start working together.”  

It was like he had lit a match in a gas refinery.  All the bluster from earlier came rushing back, and he could _feel_ the anger crackling around Keith.  However, he got only as far as “But—” before Shiro jumped in once more. 

“No.  Stop.”  Opening his eyes, Shiro trained his unyielding gaze on Keith and whatever remaining protest lingered on his lips died there.  “This is _bigger_ than whatever bullshit either of you is on about.  It is _bigger_ than him being competitive or you being an asshole with a chip on your shoulder a mile wide.  You _need_ to work together.   _All_ of you.   _I_ need you to work together.  The only way we stop Zarkon and get back to Earth is if you do.”  He watched Keith’s gaze falter under the pressure of his own, the young man’s eyes dropping to the middle space between them.  Shiro swallowed thickly and pressed ahead.  “I will do everything in my power to get you home,” he said, gentler this time, “but I’m...I’m not going to be here forever—” 

“Don’t say that,” Keith interjected, sounding desperate. 

“Keith—” 

“Don’t. Say that.”  The words were angry and choked, like they hurt to say. 

“Keith.”  Shiro’s own voice was barely a murmur, kind even when they were faced with the path ahead.  “I’m not giving up,” he assured as Keith raised his eyes once more, “but I need to know that you can do this.  Promise me that you’ll do this.”  

Keith studied him and in his violet eyes Shiro watched as the pain and denial there was overcome by reluctant acceptance.  “Okay,” Keith replied and for the briefest moment, Shiro caught of glimpse of the man Keith would become.  He smiled and closed his eyes.


	6. Scar Tissue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Trial of Marmora, Shiro and Keith are granted time alone in the Castle of Lion’s medical suite to clean Keith’s wounds before battle plans begin in earnest.

“You really were going to fight them, weren’t you?” 

The question from the man sitting on the exam table was colored with jaded amusement and something like awe.  Shiro sighed as he cut another piece of cloth with one eye on the wound in Keith’s shoulder.  The astrosuit he had worn had put enough compression against it that he hadn’t bled out during the trial or the flight back to the castle, but when they had removed his clothing it had started to bleed anew.  In the uncharacteristically heavy silence that had stretched between them and permeated the medical suite, they had worked together to stem the flow and clean it and the multitude of other injuries Keith had sustained before bandaging them.  The shoulder wound, though...that had Shiro worried and he expected one of the castle’s healing pods would be in their future once their guests had departed.  But for now, old-fashioned first aid would have to do. 

Shiro bound the final strip of cloth across Keith’s shoulder and began securing it with what he had surmised was medical tape before he deigned to answer the question.  “Yes, I would have fought them.” 

“All of them.  The whole Blade of Marmora.” 

“If it meant getting you out of there, yes.”  Shiro turned away from him and put the medical supplies away with a bit more force than was perhaps necessary.  The whole ordeal had left him agitated.  The Blades’ unrelenting natures, Keith’s ill-timed stubbornness, the...illusion with his face telling Keith he was doomed to be alone in spite of the young man’s pleas.  That especially.  It rankled him and left a bitter taste in his mouth.  

And for what?  All of it, for what? 

 _He’s Galra._  

Well...there was that.  The flight back to the castle had been just this side of surreal as the two of them grappled with the revelation.  Shiro had stolen cautious glances back at Kolivan who, for his part, had kept a respectable distance and ridden silently back with them. 

Shiro now turned back to the young man on the exam table and found Keith’s eyes downcast and locked on the middle space between them.  He had brought his left hand up to clutch his forearm, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against a stray bruise that was still blooming under his skin.  His other hand tightened around the hilt of the blade he still cradled in his lap.  

Closing the distance that separated them, Shiro stood before his friend and said, “Keith, look at me.”   

The young man grimaced and with what appeared to be great effort raised his head to meet his gaze.  Keith’s eyes were pained and fearful, searching and unsure.  

It made Shiro all the angrier to see it.  “Despite what some will tell you, the universe doesn’t operate on a binary.  It’s never zero sum.  It’s not a choice between your past and your present, where you are and where you want to be.  ‘Knowledge or death,’” he all but spat the words but grew gentler when he added, “human or Galra.”  Keith winced and looked away.  Shiro ducked his head down to draw his violet eyes back to him.  “Keith, I’m never going to make you choose between these things.” 

“How can you say that, knowing what you do now?” Keith asked him, his voice breaking as he spoke.  “How can you trust me? How can you—I’m one of them—!” 

“You’re also one of us,” Shiro told him.  “You’re also still you.  None of this _changes_ who you are, what you mean to the team, what you mean to me—” 

This broke him and Shiro watched in startled silence as Keith’s face crumpled, overcome.  He dropped his head once more as his breath came in strangled gasps, his shoulders trembling.  “He went back in for it,” Keith said, choking on the words that poured out of him in a rush.  “He went back in for a _fucking knife_ and...and I had to know _why_.  We were already out.  Why did he go back in?  Why did he…” Keith coughed and raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes. 

With dawning horror, Shiro thought back to the burnt out husk he had glimpsed off to the side of Keith’s shack on Earth.  The desert sun and grit had leveled what remained of the ruin to its foundations, making it nearly unrecognizable as what had been a house long since destroyed by neglect...and fire.   

Shiro pulled Keith into his arms, feeling numb with sudden shock.  He tangled a hand in Keith’s dark hair, his other arm wrapping around his back, and pressed his cheek against the crown of his head, hoping he could offer some comfort in the embrace.  He hadn’t known, they hadn’t told him, no one had said…  He felt his heart breaking at this new, terrible knowledge.  It shattered completely when Keith wrapped his arms around his waist, one hand grasping at the fabric of his astrosuit, thin fingers clawing at his back.  Wounded and lost and desperate.  

“I’m here,” Shiro murmured, when he could trust his voice again. 

“It didn’t show me,” Keith told him, his words riding on the sobs he masked and strangled somewhere in his throat.  “It wouldn’t tell me—” 

“I know,” Shiro said, tightening his hold on the man in his arms as if he could anchor him to the present with whatever strength he could give him.  “I know.  I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonically, we only know that Papa Kogane died in a fire likely after having already made it to safety (ref “Everyone told him not to run back into that building...”). There’s nothing definitive about the context beyond that. Though...if you want to ramp up the pain and you assume Keith in S1 has been living out of the guesthouse/shack/storage unit that we see next to the main house in Krolia’s flashbacks during “Razor’s Edge” you’ll notice there’s no longer a house next to it. So what happened to the house? Fanon theory: the Kogane house was the building that Keith's dad ran back into.


	7. Law of Inevitability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith found him, found him out in the void and brought him home. An improbability bordering on impossible, and yet...here they were.

Shiro had blacked out moments after seeing them come for him. The Black Lion had been leading the Castle through the wormhole that dwarfed his Galra fighter, but as they had closed in on his location, the darkness had consumed him. 

He had drifted back up toward the edges of consciousness when someone had affixed something over his face, feeding him oxygen. Long-fingered hands had brushed his hair back from his face and then were gone. 

He had drifted up again an undetermined time later. Some part of his semi-conscious mind knew he was in the castle's medical suite. Those dexterous hands were on him again, manipulating his limbs as they pulled on what he assumed were clothes. An injured sound escaped him against his will, and the hands paused in their ministrations. His attendant then had reached out and caressed his hair once more, a gentle touch that was infinitely reassuring. “It's okay. We got you,” the owner murmured, and Shiro slipped back into the dark with a name in the forefront of his mind. _Keith..._  

Shiro finally awoke to a dark room, ambient light low and blue. Turning his head to the side, he recognized the room as his quarters in the castle. He was home. _Home…_  

He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. Trying to think back to the events that led him here, it was with eerie sense déjà vu he reflected on the disjointed, half-formed memories of violet light and pain and fear. The Galra had captured him after— _During?_ —the battle with Zarkon. But how long ago had that been? He could remember...a medical bay, and the sick feeling in his stomach told him they'd experimented on him again, though in what sense he couldn't surmise. 

But then— _Kuron._ And the man on the table! The man on the table _who had his face!_  

Eyes wide, Shiro bolted upright in bed, his heart racing as a sudden— _Impossible!_ —horror filled him, coating his insides like ice. He clutched at his chest, struggling to breathe through the fear even as he started to shake apart. 

It was then his eyes fell on someone blessedly familiar. Keith sat tucked in the corner of his bunk, pressed up against the wall that canopied the bed. His eyes had opened wide, seemingly startled awake only seconds before. 

Keith shifted and swung his legs over the edge of the bed before taking the few steps to Shiro's side. Only then did he offer his arms up, hesitant and unsure. Shiro reached out and clutched the man's jacket, hauling him closer with a desperation he didn't know he possessed. Keith returned the embrace wholeheartedly, his arms wrapping around Shiro's head and shoulders, lifting a bent knee up onto the edge of the mattress to balance himself. His fingers caressed Shiro's hair with a surprising tenderness and he rested his cheek against the crown of his head. Shiro pressed his face against Keith's chest, listened to him breathe, to his heart beat, and tried to tell himself this was real. He was home, he was safe… 

How long they stayed like that, Shiro wasn't sure. Long enough for the terror to pass, long enough for him to grow drowsy again, grounded and comforted by the man pressed against him. He thus heard as much as felt the word that rumbled in Keith's chest, “Okay?” Shiro nodded and with great reluctance released his hold on his friend. 

Keith withdrew, but not far.  Pulling just out of arm’s reach, he sat down on the edge of the bed and studied him with an intensity that was Keith’s alone.  Those sad, violet eyes searched for something in Shiro’s face under the dim light of the room and in the back of his head something sinister whispered, _What if I’m not me?_   

Shiro struggled to swallow against the vice that tightened around his throat and instead asked, “How long have I been gone?” He dreaded the question, but knew he dreaded the answer more. 

Keith seemed to be of the same mind.  He dropped his eyes to the floor and twisted his fingers around themselves in his lap.  The fidgeting was painfully nostalgic, and Shiro relished the sight of it even as he prepared himself for the response.  “A year,” Keith said at last, sounding pained as he brought his eyes up to meet Shiro’s once more.  “You’ve been gone a year.  Or thereabout.” [1] 

“A year,” Shiro echoed, reeling, the words a stunned whisper.  A year of darkness, a year in the hands of the Galra scientists and the witch and her minions.  What happened?  What had they _done?_ He took a shuddering breath and shut his eyes, closing himself off from the stimuli around him, hoping to stave off the panic that was rising again, threatening to choke him again.   

He heard Keith inhale, as if he was about to say something, when the terminal off to the side chimed.  Shiro opened his eyes and found Keith’s locked on the device across the room. Turning, he watched as text scrolled across the transparent screen, paired with maps and charts.  A mission, an objective.  

Shiro turned back to Keith, who now looked torn.  “Go,” he murmured.  When Keith met his gaze, Shiro added, “They need you.” 

Keith shook his head.  “They need _you_.” 

The thought was as comforting as it was terrifying.  Shiro swallowed thickly and offered his friend a weak smile.  “Not in this state, they don’t.”  When Keith hesitated, he reiterated, “Go.  I’ll be alright.” 

Eyes locked again on Shiro, Keith reached out and touched his left arm with a reverence that betrayed his disbelief that Shiro was really there.  The fingers that brushed against Shiro’s forearm left his skin tingling, and some frightened part of him wanted to escape it.  A deeper part of him longed for the comfort the touch offered.  He clenched his teeth against both reactions and screwed his face into something like calm.  

Eventually, and with great reluctance, Keith retreated.  At the door, he paused to say, “I’ll be back soon,” and then was gone.   

Only after he was alone once more did Shiro let the strangled gasp escape his lips.  In the silence of the room it melted and broke further into a sob.  Clamping his hand over his mouth, he drew his legs up toward his chest and pressed his back against the wall behind him.  Burying his face in his hands he struggled to breathe as _the man with his face_ rose unbidden into his mind’s eye. 

_What had they done_ — 

_What had they done_ —

_What had they done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Thanks to [insights from S7 and folks on reddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Voltron/comments/9julev/just_realized_something_interesting_about_voltron/) we know that officially Voltron spent about a year (or so) fighting the Galra before Sam Holt is wormholed back to Earth, which predates all the wonky time slippage. **_However._** For Shiro’s hair to get that long and no one comment on it, he would have had to be missing for far longer than is suggested. Especially since human hair only grows on average 6 inches/year. So we’re gonna add to the general timeline, m’kay?


	8. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d returned successful from Naxzela, albeit by the skin of their teeth. The decisive victory invigorates the Coalition even as it brings about confusion and suspicion thanks to Lotor’s sudden reappearance. Shiro thought that was enough uncertainty for them to be dealing with, but then a fateful call from Matt Holt adds a new layer of turmoil.

The terminal in his room chirped brightly and Shiro growled in frustration as he cut the water to his shower.  Always something.  Always, always…  Quickly drying himself off, he tossed the towel back into the connected shower stall and hastily pulled on a pair of pants before moving to stand before the terminal.  He touched a holographic button which flashed on the translucent screen and was greeted by a familiar face.  Alarm bells went off in his head.  “Matt?  What is it?” 

The man gave him a tired smile.  “Sorry to bother you during downtime,” Matt began acknowledging his state of undress, “but I needed to talk to you and this is the first chance I’ve gotten.  I asked Coran to patch me through to your quarters.  Hope that’s okay.” 

Shiro waved off his concern and took a seat in front of the terminal.  Running a hand through his still-damp hair he said, “Not a problem.  What’s up?” 

At this, Matt hesitated.  His gaze shifting to focus on something internally, his lips quirking in a half-grimace which Shiro had long come to associate with the Holts carefully considering their options.  So he waited.  At last Matt answered, “You need to talk to Keith.” 

“Keith?” Shiro echoed, thoughts turning to the young man.  Keith had returned to the Castle in a damaged Galra fighter once the Coalition forces had regrouped safely within their territory.  He had seemed...unsteady, but then they all had.  The near-defeat and Lotor’s reappearance—fighting on their side, no less—had left them all shaken.  But...thinking back on Keith’s presence on the bridge with them before retiring to his old quarters, something seemed off.  What had he missed?  To Matt, he said, “Tell me.” 

And he did.  The witch, the weapon, the force field they couldn’t break...that much he had known.  Keith’s aborted suicide run, however, _that_ had not been shared during the debrief.  Shiro sat in stunned silence listening to Matt relay what he had witnessed, how close they had come to losing Keith, and felt his blood begin to boil.   _Why?_ Shiro asked himself. _Why, why why—_  “Thank you,” he said to Matt, struggling to keep his voice level.  “I’ll speak to him.” 

Matt nodded, seeming relieved to have been able to pass on this heavy knowledge.  “I figured you more than anyone would know what to do.”  

With a final word of thanks, Shiro cut the connection and scrubbed his face with his hands.   _Keith...fuck…_  He stood in the middle of his room, grappling with horror and rage and hurt.  Eventually the anger won out.  It gave him something to anchor himself to as he dressed and left the room in search of their wayward paladin.  

So overcome with the dark thoughts in his head, he didn’t bother announce his arrival or ask for permission to enter and chose instead to step straight into Keith’s quarters as soon as the door slid open.  As it hissed shut behind him once more, Shiro studied the immaculate space, devoid of personal effects.  It was also devoid of Keith himself.  He registered the sound of running water from the attached bath area in the far corner.  Shiro paused and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 

Something was wrong. A sound he couldn't discern, just under the white noise of the water. “Keith?” he asked from where he stood. 

The response was delayed for several breathless moments. “Here,” came the weak answer at last from the crumpled silhouette in the stall. Keith's voice sounded raw and broken...and distant, as if its owner was far away. 

It was all the motivation Shiro needed to close the distance that separated them. Reaching the shower stall, he pulled the door aside and hissed when too-hot water struck his arm. He cursed and cut the spray before turning his attention to Keith. The man sat tucked into the back corner of the shower, his head resting against the tiled wall, dark hair plastered to his skin like ink.  Despite the flush on his skin from the shower, he was shivering. 

“‘m cold,” Keith muttered plaintively as he finally looked up at Shiro. His eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated wide and black. 

“You're cold because you're in shock,” Shiro told him as he grabbed a towel from the shelf off to the side. “Why it took so long to hit you, I don't know. Let's get you dry. Then we'll get you warm.” 

Shiro helped him stand but discovered Keith's legs had gone weak, untrustworthy and trembling with the effort to carry his weight. “Hold onto me,” Shiro instructed pulling Keith's arms toward his shoulder. The man obeyed without complaint, which only concerned him more. Shiro hastily toweled off what he could reach and then repeated the work with Keith's hair, leaving it damp and tousled. Tossing the towel aside he asked, “Can you walk?” When no response came, he ducked his head to get the man's attention and prompted, “Keith?” 

Keith took a deep breath and nodded but didn't release his hold on his shoulders, and Shiro could feel him shivering all the more. He thus wrapped an arm around Keith's thin waist and held them flush together side-to-side as he helped him move out of the shower and toward the bed. Shiro then bent to shuck the sheets off to the side and instructed, “Get in. Lie down,” as he eased Keith away and onto the bed. 

Once he had safely deposited his friend, who fumbled with the sheets to bundle himself up to his chin, Shiro backtracked to the room's console. With a few taps, he found the atmospherics and turned up the heat before returning to Keith's bedside. 

Keith's gaze was still too far away to be comforting, but it seemed the trembling had started to subside. Progress. Shiro took a seat on the edge of the mattress and stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder, the familiar weight hopefully offering some comfort. Keith's eyes fluttered closed and he took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was clearer. 

“Matt told me,” Shiro said after a time. “What were you thinking?” 

Keith winced and turned his face away to look at the wall bordering his bunk.  Voice barely a murmur, he pleaded, “Don’t be mad.  I—I was thinking about the mission...” 

“A suicide run isn’t the answer.” 

“Sometimes it is.” 

“There is _always_ another answer.” 

At Shiro's vehemence, Keith turned back to face him once more. His eyes were sad. “Nothing we had could break the shield. Nothing. And the Coalition wouldn't have escaped the blast. _You_ wouldn't have escaped the blast. The mission would've failed. The war would've ended. We would've lost.” Then softer, “You would have died.” 

Shiro wasn't sure how to respond to this, too frustrated and reeling from how very close they'd come to losing Keith. What was worse, Shiro knew he would have made the same choice if he had been faced with the same decision: his life, or the entirety of the universe's hope. It was so much, too much to process. 

Keith filled the silence with quiet certainty. “The universe _needs_ Voltron. It needs the Paladins. You're too important to die.” 

This gave Shiro something to latch onto. “Keith...you _are_ a paladin of Voltron.” 

The man shook his head, as if defeated.  “I left.  They have you.  I’m expendable.” 

Shiro looked away with a frustrated growl and dug the heels of his hands into eyes, making them water and red spots blossom behind the lids.  He let the anger roll over him, through him, and all that was left in its wake was...grief.  Quietly, Shiro told him.  “You’re not expendable.  Not to them.  Not to the Coalition.  Not to me.  _Never_ to me.”   

Dropping his arms into his lap, Shiro took a deep breath to steady himself before turning his gaze back on Keith.  “The stakes are too high as it is, for all of us,” he said.  “I can’t lose you.  I could never live with myself if I did.”  He paused and studied Keith’s eyes, finding them clear but...overcome with some unspoken emotion.  Beautiful in their turmoil.  Bottomless.  Shiro swallowed against the lump in his throat.  “Promise me,” he murmured, “promise me you won’t pull some stunt like that again.  Promise me you won’t go so far that I can’t get you back.” 

After a time, Keith took a deep breath and whispered, as if in prayer, “I promise.”


	9. Breaking Ranks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor is now the Galra Emperor, aided by Shiro and—belatedly—Voltron. Following the Kral Zera ceremony, the paladins return to the Castle of Lions with Keith in tow on the auspices of him hitching a ride to the nearest BoM outpost in order to report back to Kolivan.

Danger past and Lotor in place as Emperor, the Lions had disbanded. It was then that Black had alerted Shiro that there was another member of their party still on the ground. Shiro studied the monitors as they isolated the signal and zoomed in on Keith. The man stood away from the dais, his hood drawn close as he looked up at the Lions from the shadows. “Keith,” he murmured to himself, forgetting the line was still open to the others. 

“Keith?” 

“Keith's here?” 

“Are there other Blades?” 

Shiro bit his tongue and glanced at another monitor that showed Lotor being escorted by his now-loyal subjects. Mission accomplished, then. Shiro instructed the team, “Prepare for departure.” He then urged Black down toward the ground, the ramp open in her mouth. On-screen, Keith smiled to himself before disappearing from view as he boarded. 

As the group took off to head home, Keith joined Shiro in the cockpit. “I figured you might want a ride,” Shiro said as the other man approached from behind. 

“Thanks,” Keith said, bracing a hand against the back of the pilot's chair. “The rest of the Blades ditched before the bombs exploded and even with Lotor in the seat, I'm not sure I trust the rest of them just yet.” 

“Safe assumption,” Shiro replied as the castle reared up before them and they navigated to the Lions’ respective hangar decks. 

Once inside, they exited Black together and took the lift to the bridge where they met the others. As the group collectively welcomed Keith, Shiro met Allura's eyes and found them cold. He throttled the anger that rose up from his belly at the sight of it. Not here, not now, not when they had been successful. _At great risk,_ a voice in his head reminded him and he squashed that too. 

It was Keith who gave him the out. “I need to get back to base, but I know that's not where you're going. Do you mind dropping me at the Remidian System? [1] Some of our main supply lines run through there, so it'll be easy to hitch a ride the rest of the way from there.” 

Allura smiled warmly at him. “Of course. We could take you further…” 

Keith shook his head. “It's fine. Trust me—I'm not exactly in a hurry to get back.” 

“Why? Missing the glamor of being a paladin?” Lance asked with a smirk as he posed and postured. 

“More like I'm not particularly excited about the dressing down I'm going to get from Kolivan about changing the plan on the fly.” 

The buffer Keith provided evaporated as Allura grew distant once more. “Yes, well...we know a thing or two about that.” The other paladins remained silent, but their eyes spoke volumes. 

It made Shiro's skin crawl. Reaching out the tapped Keith on the shoulder. “We'll be at the Remidian System before too long. I'll help you get ready.” 

Keith turned to face him, seemingly to protest, but he must have seen something in Shiro’s eyes which stopped the words in his throat. Instead he said, “Sure. I’d appreciate it. I assume my room's still vacant…?” 

They moved through the castle in shared silence, tension fading the further they moved from the bridge. Shiro drew solace from the man beside him, the irony that _Keith_ would exude _calm_ not lost on him. He smiled to himself even as guilt twisted around his heart. He was running from the others and he ran to Keith, who had left them for his own reasons. It was unfair to all of them. He had to do better. He _would_ do better. 

But as Keith opened the door to his old quarters and led the way into his room, Shiro thought that perhaps for this brief moment he didn't need to be the strong one. 

“You sure you can’t stay longer?” Shiro asked, already knowing the answer. The door hissed shut behind him and he crossed to the bed, dropping down on the edge and bracing his elbows against his knees. 

Keith shook his head without looking up, focused instead on reviewing his gear and checking the gauges on his astrosuit.  He withdrew some item Shiro didn't recognize from a hip pouch and jammed it into what constituted as a wall socket, clearly trusting the castle to adapt the power flow for compatibility. “I have to get back. I need to report in. I have a feeling Kolivan is going to be...less than thrilled with me.” 

“You mentioned that on the bridge. Why’s that?” Shiro watched Keith work with an efficiency that was unfamiliar. 

“Because I broke ranks,” Keith said.  “We were supposed to bring down the whole thing, not just part of it. Bombs were set, armed. But then I saw Black and...I started deactivating them. The mission failed because I...I let my emotions get in the way. I couldn't set them off with you there and at risk. You and Lotor.” 

Turning around and leaning back against wall console opposite the bed, Keith crossed his arms over his chest and grimaced.  His eyes were downcast as he continued, “I’ve been doing that a lot: making decisions based on emotional response, rather than staying focused on the mission at hand. I know the other operatives blame it on my being human.” He snorted derisively. “As if Galra only ever make decisions based on cold logic. I think it’s just Kolivan.” 

Shiro considered his answer carefully. “The Blades have been fighting the Empire a long time,” he said at last. “I imagine Kolivan has had to make some...difficult decisions along the way.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Keith replied as they let the sentiment fill the space between them. At last, Keith looked up and asked, “Why were you there anyway?  I got the impression from the mission brief that the target was ideal _because_ no Coalition forces were going to be there.” 

Shiro felt the muscles in his jaw twitch and he turned away, unable to meet Keith’s curious gaze for long. “We...weren’t going to be.” 

“What happened?” 

“I broke ranks too.”

“That seems a bit out of character for you,” Keith said. His words were colored by laughter, but there was an undercurrent of concern below the surface. “Things seemed tense on the bridge, but I didn’t want to say anything...” 

The observation struck Shiro too close to home, like a knife between the ribs, and he felt the beginnings of another headache coming on like so many before it.  He clenched his teeth against the pain and raised a hand to his head, pressing his thumb against his temple.  

“Hey…” Keith murmured, pushing away from the wall and coming to sit down next to Shiro.  He reached out to touch his shoulder and despite the familiarity of the action, Shiro flinched when Keith’s hand made contact.  Both of them froze and several painful seconds passed before Keith asked, “Everything okay?” 

After a time, Shiro admitted, “I don’t know.” The words were barely a whisper, as if simply by voicing them he gave them power. “There are times I feel...scattered. Like I’m not…” _Like I’m not myself._ Shiro shook his head and swallowed past the tightness in his throat.  “Like I’m not in control. Like I’m drowning.” 

“Have you told the others about this?” 

“No,” Shiro said, and knew instantly that no matter what Keith said, he wouldn’t tell them. He couldn’t. They needed him to be the leader, the Black Paladin, the 'hero.’ Reliable and stable and _sane._ He couldn’t afford not to be. _They_ couldn't afford him not to be. And so he struggled against the tide that threatened daily to sweep him into its murky depths and flood his senses with madness. 

 _—the man with his face!—_  

But Keith was speaking again. “You need to talk to them. You don't have to bare your soul or anything. I know you won't—” he said dismissively, and Shiro cast a sidelong glance at him wondering if Keith had at some point learned how to read minds, “—but they need to know that you're dealing with some shit.” Then after a brief pause, he added, “It might help bring the team closer together.” 

Shiro winced at the suggestion and knew Keith was right. Over the months since his return, he had felt the connections between the Paladins start to buckle under growing stress and strain. He knew in his heart that every day that went by, their unity grew more tenuous. The ramifications were serious: the only reason they could form Voltron was because of the team's cohesion, and if the team couldn't coalesce...then he was failing them. And he _couldn't_ fail them. 

“I'll take it under advisement,” Shiro said with a tired, wry smile. Keith returned one of his own and then opened his mouth to say something  
more— 

The terminal in the corner chimed. “Keith,” Allura's voice came over the intercom, “we're approaching the rendezvous point in the Remidian System.” 

Shiro watched Keith's smile fade and he felt a great weight return to his own shoulders. He exhaled slowly, gathering himself together.  Beside him, Keith responded to the hail, “Thanks, Allura.” 

Shiro pushed up and away from the bed, putting distance between them once more. He sensed Keith do the same, crossing the room to gather his gear while Shiro moved to the door. 

“Shiro?” 

He stopped and turned at the sound of his name to find Keith watching him with...something he couldn't place. _Depth_ was all he had to describe what he saw in his friend's face. A million words that would go unspoken. A thousand paths narrowing and coming together before them. 

At last, Keith said, “Send me messages. Talk to me, even if I'm not here. Even if the mission doesn't let me respond right away. I'll still be listening, okay? I promise.” 

Shiro swallowed past the ache that flared in his chest and only nodded, looking away. “I'll see you off,” he said and stepped out into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Thanks to the [Star System Name Generator](http://www.scifiideas.com/star-system-name-generator/)


	10. Into the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He left he left he left he failed them when he promised them promised himself he wouldn't but it was the only way the only way _**the only way**_ to end it once and for all.

“Shiro, come in. I know you’re there!” a voice hailed over the open comms line, but they felt so far away, so impossibly far away as Shiro turned the Altean shuttle from the Galra fleet as some voice in his head had told him to do.  The voice that sounded so much like the seeds of his own doubts that now had blossomed and exploded across his mind, fed by poisoned thoughts and rage and fear, leaving him numb. 

The screen before him came alive and a familiar face called out to him.  “I don’t know what’s wrong but I know we can fix this.  Let me help you.” 

Too late, too late, too late for help for forgiveness for any of it.  Even Keith was too late.  He had to see it, had to.  Shiro reached forward and disengaged the comms line, silencing the other man and his too-gentle words.  Some desperate part of him hoped it would be a deterrent, that Keith would abandon him, forget him, leave him. Some darker part knew he wouldn’t, and it would be their undoing. Poetic. Tragic. Splintered and shredded apart by the gravitational pull between them as they destroyed each other. 

Because didn’t he see? He had to do it. Had to fail, had to leave, had to abandon them, murder them, **_end it_**.  Once and for all. 

Shiro navigated the shuttle to a nearby asteroid orbiting a white star. He knew this place. Had seen it in his dreams, his nightmares. It was fitting that the beginning would also be the end. Touching down, he cut the engines and dropped down out of the cockpit. The sand and grit was soft under his boots as he walked, weaving his way along the foot of cliffs and outcroppings. Then down into the cave as something in his head beckoned him deeper, deeper, deeper. So down, down into The Pit into the belly of the Beast into the darkness until he reached the Gates of Hell themselves, a beacon of violet light that promised only agony and death. 

Shiro waved his hand over the console at the foot of the ramp and stepped inside when doors opened. He rode the lift down and stepped back out into a dark corridor lined with empty canisters, tubes, coffins, wombs. They waited for children, for monsters, for the army the witch would build. An army with his face. 

 _Destroy it_ , some part of himself whispered up from the depths.   _Destroy all of it._ All of them. All of him. Every version every copy every cell every scrap of tissue that could still be called human. 

Shiro walked down the hall and took a set of stairs down another level before entering the facility’s control room.  His right hand ghosted over the quiet panels, waking them from their slumber.  Working quickly, he initiated the self-destruct procedure and overrode the computer’s futile attempts to save itself with cold efficiency. 

Off to his right, violet light flooded the darkened main deck.  Shiro looked out from the control room windows and saw him. The Red Paladin. His friend. Keith. 

 _Oh Keith_ , came the wild, manic thought. _Don’t you know this place will burn? I’ll burn with it. And now you’ll burn too._  He trembled with the certainty of it. Destroyed, cleansed, erased from existence.  He’d seen too much, seen it all. And there was no more time to escape. He would end them both. End them like he’d ended the others. He couldn’t leave Keith alone again, some mad part of him reasoned as he stepped out of the control room and approached the man from behind. It would be cruel at this point. Alone in the universe. Orphan boy lost in the vastness, the darkness, the infinite of space. 

“Hello, Keith.” 

The man spun on his heel and for a moment, Shiro saw the fear in his eyes. Now he knew. Now he understood. Had to. Had to understand the monstrosity, the horror before him, around him, around _them_. 

“Shiro, it’s going to be okay.” 

On that, they agreed. It would be over. Shiro took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Yes, I know.” 

“We just have to get back to the Castle.” 

 _Oh, Keith… Keith Keith Keithkeithkeithkeithkeith—_ It was much, _much_ too late for that. It all had to end and they had to end with it! Shiro lunged forward, driven by vicious certainty. “We are not going anywhere!” 

They connected. Collided. He pursued and attacked, relentless, fueled by the hunger and anger that now had a target in its sights. Keith blocked and parried, trying to put distance between them. Too much distance. Too close to the edge. Shiro struck and knocked Keith backward and over the railing. He watched him tumble head over heels for only a second before leaping over the railing to follow him.  Dust settled. Blades activated. Attacks renewed. Shiro always just a hair’s breadth behind, death snapping at Keith’s heels. Rabid and certain. 

This is how it ends, it ends, it ends. Destroy themselves. Destroy each other. Who goes first? Upperhand gained, lost, gained again with the fear in his Galra—yes! Galra!—eyes. 

Then from the behind the wreckage of a toppled storage unit, twisted metal and broken glass, “Shiro, I know you’re in there.” As he straightened, Shiro turned his eyes on this desperate thing, so unwilling to give up the fight, so unwilling to see the inevitable before him.  “You made a promise once. You told me you’d never give up on me.” 

Promises.  Promise to lead to help to save. Promise to protect to fight to live. Desert night and sun-warmed red stone and promise to return. Desert sun and the barracks and promise to love. Rain and storms and slick roads and screeching tires and a promise not to be gone long.

Promises broken betrayed abandoned at the source at the beginning and _every time since._  

“And I should have abandoned you just like your parents did. They saw that you were broken. Worthless. I should have seen it too.”  Who said the words, he didn’t know. Too close, too far, too alone. Poor orphan boy… 

“I’m not leaving here without you.” 

 _Here._ From the past to the present with sudden urgency. Relief almost. “Actually,” Shiro sighed, “neither of us are leaving.” 

Violet to red, the self-destruct engaged at last. Now it would end, collapse, turn to dust. Finally, finally and he grinned.  But then— 

His arm sparked, flared, _scorched_. Shiro fell forward with a scream. He could feel it, its hunger as it swallowed him. Bone and blood and tissue repurposed by some dark power seeded within. Its roots ran deep, searching for soft tissue and left him _burning_. 

 _Release it!_  

Eyes clenched shut, jaw locked, Shiro did.  It raced through him, out and out and out. A torrent of violet light and cold fire.  He fell back on his heels as it ripped through him and left him hollowed out, a shell of himself.   

He stumbled up to his feet then, but as he heaved gasping breaths it built again. _Out! Out!_ Shiro stretched his arm forward and power and violence exploded from him. The light blinded him, red spots swimming in his field of vision as the beam dissipated.  He stumbled forward, blinking to clear his vision.  

At the edge of the precipice he saw more of them. Sleeping monsters. _Destroy them!_  Shaking with effort he raised his arm again, released the dark energy again, watched with cold relief as the platform fell into the star below.   

It was then that he saw him. Keith. The Red Paladin lept to the lower orbital disc, a last desperate bid to survive, to fight on. 

 _Too late!_ Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he see? 

Shiro leapt into the abyss. 

—and landed close, so close to the fallen paladin, Keith, his friend, his enemy, his weakness, his would-be savior. 

 _Too late!_  

He’d end it. He’d end it for them both. With a cry, Shiro swung his sword down in a killing stroke—stopped short by a Galra blade. He pressed down harder with a growl. 

“Shiro, please. You’re my brother. I love you.”

  
  
  
  
  


Love? 

A million possibilities but only one path. 

Two orphan boys alone in the infinite of space. 

A tragedy. 

“Just let go, Keith,” he urged. Begged. Pleaded. Demanded. “You don’t have to fight anymore. By now, the team’s already gone. I saw to it myself.” 

Beneath him, Keith’s arms trembled with fatigue and anguish. So close, so close. He’d end it end it end it quick if he’d just give in let go— 

A flash of yellow eyes and a tormented cry and then **_pain!_**  

The agony brought with it sudden clarity, like a lightning strike to his mind. He stumbled backward and collapsed to his knees. It was hard to breathe, to think. He was so tired…and cold… Shuddering and frightened and hurting he looked up to find Keith looking down on him from above, his face a mask of grief and tears in his eyes. Struggling against the tunnel vision that crept in from the edges, he managed only weakly, “Keith?” 

Overhead, an explosion. Below, the sudden shifting of gravity as the platform tilted, its supporting cables finally giving out. Shiro watched Keith stumble and then closed his eyes, giving into the darkness that swallowed him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...a bit of an experimental piece, this one. Hope you all made it! If you found this one harder to read, normal narrative style returns in the next chapter. 
> 
> Two other points I wanted to note. First, I believe that Shiro’s arm is powered by his own life force / inner quintessence. The beam of light we see is _him,_ his spirit weaponized. The arm focused it perhaps, but that wasn’t some Galra power source buried within it; that was all _Shiro._ Which is why it was so powerful: the dude’s resilient. It’s also why the clone body starts to die at the end of the fight—he’s used up his own life force to power the attacks. 
> 
> Second, and in addition to the above… In case you missed its reference above (the “army with his face” line), I theorize that Honerva was cloning Shiro specifically for a reason and that the Alteans-as-power-sources plotline we see in S8 was her “Well, that works too” Plan B option. Shiro’s destruction of the cloning facility was unexpected and resulted in an alternative approach, which presented itself through the Altean colony. But that begs the question...why Shiro specifically? Was it just because Shiro _himself_ is that powerful (per above note) or was there another reason?
> 
> Well...we’ll get there. ;) Read on!


	11. Extraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the clone’s body begins to reject his consciousness, Shiro finds himself once more out in the astral plane. This time, however, he’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this piece](http://nakutan.tumblr.com/post/180805069745/my-headcanon-about-the-s7-kuron-shiro-fusion) by [nakutan](http://nakutan.tumblr.com/), I kinda...ran with it and made it darker and a bit violent.

Shiro had collapsed into Keith’s arms, gasping as his lungs filled with real air he hadn’t breathed in what felt like an eternity. Things came to him suddenly—pain, fatigue, the pressure of another body, the acute weight of his limbs—but all too soon he had slipped back into the darkness, overwrought and overwhelmed by his senses returning after such a long absence. 

He awoke again staring out into the endless abyss.  “No,” he gasped and for one terrifying moment he considered the very real possibility that he was doomed to this infinite purgatory, so close to the ones he loved and yet impossible to reach them. 

But then he felt it, like a whisper against his neck: he wasn’t alone. He spun on his heel in time to see a form in the distance fall to his knees, head in his hands.   

Shiro then moved without moving, acting without momentum, here and then there, distance evaporating like a dream.  Suddenly he stood before the kneeling man, the other him, the Black Paladin and traitor and victim in a larger game.  Shiro towered over the clone, wondering if the Black Lion had brought this outsider before him for judgment. 

Before he could consider the ramifications, the other version of himself spoke. “You’re him. You’re me. Or rather, who I thought I was.” 

“Yes,” was all Shiro could say in reply. 

The man dropped his hands to the ground beneath them and the void stretched out, bottomless, in all directions underfoot. His shoulders heaved and trembled with shuddering breaths. A sense of deja vu swept through Shiro, as if he was watching himself in the beginning, watching himself realize where he was, what this was. 

It was then that the man with his face looked up and Shiro withdrew with a start.  His twin’s face contorted in pain and grief but it was _the eyes_.  The left eye was his own, wide and gray and searching. The right...the gold Galra eye flashed with naked menace. 

“Please,” pleaded the man before him with his voice.  “You have to cut it out.  She’ll never stop.  So long as it’s there, she can—she can—”   

“I...I don’t have anything to—” 

“Then _tear_ it out,” the man snarled, desperate and gasping where he crouched before him and only then did Shiro realize there was a battle raging that he could not see.  The man’s human eye rolled back into his skull and he listed to the right, a hand coming up to claw at the side of his head.  “You have to be the one to do it,” the man told him, gasping.  “It...it won’t let me.  It would let me destroy _everyone_ but it won’t let me do this.”   

Shiro knelt before his clone and took the man’s face in his hands but was unsure of where to focus when those eyes blinked up at him.  Half pleaded, half threatened.  From the infinities that stretched out around him, Shiro sensed Black watching and waiting for what was to come and he knew what had to be done. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice carrying far and beyond, echoing and reverberating around them. The fingers of his left hand splayed over the clone’s cheek and crept slowly toward the Galra eye. 

“Thank you,” his twin whispered back. 

Time changed. Warped. Bent. Broke. With violence and precision, Shiro struck. He captured, pulled, tore, _extracted_. There was an anguished cry. Pain burst across the plane as a visible shockwave with them at the epicenter.   


And then it was done. Shiro tossed aside the corruption with disgust, watching with some relief as the Galra eye evaporated into shimmering dust and then nothingness.   

The man with his face fell forward, collapsing against him, and Shiro cradled him in his arms as he studied him. The remaining gray eye blinked slowly as the man started to...fade.  “You’re dying,” Shiro murmured, belatedly realizing he too had started to feel somehow less.  “ _We’re_ dying,” he corrected himself. 

“I’m sorry,” said the clone, gaze unfocused. 

Shiro looked away, turning his eyes up and out into the infinite vastness that encircled them. It would be a relief, perhaps. The struggle over. To become little more than cosmic dust and starlight. 

But then through the silence of the void— 

_I’ll stay with Shiro._  

Shiro smiled as the words rolled around him, through him.   _Keith._  Turning his attention back to the man, the clone, the ruined broken thing in his arms, he said, “Alone, we die. But maybe we’re strong enough together. Maybe we can fight a just little bit longer.”  A shred of hope returned to his twin’s face and as Shiro embraced him, he instructed, “Hold onto me.”  He then sensed Black withdraw as a white light burst into and flooded his mind’s eye.  

When it faded, he stood before a classroom full of wide-eyed students who hung on his every word.  He glanced sidelong toward the far corner and found a lone boy staring out the window, disinterested.   _He’s a dreamer_ , he thought, _like me._


	12. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early in their long trek back to Earth, Krolia and Shiro bond in the belly of the Black Lion, away from prying eyes.

The long road home.   _In more ways than one,_ Shiro mused as the door to the Black Lion’s storage hangar slid shut behind him.  Crossing to the wall off to his right, he pressed his back up against the hull and took a shuddering breath.  He had caught sight of the burn on Keith’s cheek and memory had flashed behind his eyes of his hands—not his hands— _these_ hands pressing down with deadly intent, pale skin blistering under a translucent blade.   

And he had run.   

 _Just for a bit,_ he told himself.   _Just until I can…_ What? Get his head screwed on right? Shiro chuckled darkly. _Not enough time for that,_ he supposed. He was equally aware of the pervasive ache that rippled through him. Bruised flesh, hairline fractures, and the feeling of  _death_ that still radiated from his right shoulder. Closing his eyes, Shiro forced himself to breathe deep and counted to ten. 

The memories were bleeding into one another as he and the clone merged and became one.  For as real as the Void was, the vastness of infinity and how very, very close he had come to madness for every moment he was there...he was remembering _other_ things. Things he didn’t do, didn’t say, didn’t see. And yet…and yet he had, in a way. Jumbled together, out of order, juxtaposed between lifetimes of impossible loneliness. Shiro swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat and brought his left hand up to cover his eyes.   

To his left the door to the hangar opened with a hiss and he looked up.  A tall figure stepped through with graceful purpose before straightening, her gold eyes bright in the dim light of the hangar.  The door slid shut behind her as she walked toward him.  _Krolia,_ his twin told him, rising up to the surface.   _Her name is Krolia. Keith’s mother._  Shiro offered her a weak smile but kept his back to the wall behind him, feeling guilty as he did so. 

“Are you alright?” Krolia asked as she strode toward him, stopping several steps away, giving him space. 

“Yeah,” Shiro breathed unable to meet her eyes for long. They were familiar, painfully so. “I… my head…” He swallowed thickly and tried again.  “Things are a bit… confused to say the least.  I’m still processing.  As we… come together?  It’s hard to explain.” 

“You.  And the clone,” she deduced. 

Shiro nodded and smirked as a shred of a melody came to him, buried deep in his subconscious.  “I am he as he is me and we are all together.” [1] 

Krolia’s brow furrowed and her head tilted to the side, curious and confused. “I don’t—?” 

Shiro shook his head.  “A bad joke.  Forget it.”  Finally feeling stable enough to stand on his own, he pushed away from the wall behind him and came within Krolia’s orbit.   

It was then that the Galra took Shiro’s face in her hands with a tenderness he didn’t anticipate. He felt his eyes widen in surprise, felt himself tense as the feeling of being caught raced through him while she studied him. “You do have kind eyes,” Krolia told him, as if confirming some past assessment. Then as suddenly as the touch had come, she withdrew seeming embarrassed.  “I apologize,” she said, “I spent two years in the abyss with my son, seeing his memories as often as I did my own.  I feel as if I’ve known you for years.” 

Taking a deep breath, Shiro shook his head again to dismiss her concern. “It’s alright,” he said. 

They shared a silence which Shiro found surprisingly...comfortable. After a time, Krolia said, “I know you're in pain. You hide it well. I had hoped Coran and I could synthesize something for you, but...doing so would drain the remainder of the Black Lion's power core. I'm sorry, Shiro.” 

He gave her a tired smile. “Being in pain isn't exactly new for me.” 

“I know.” The way she said it, Shiro had little doubt she did. He wondered what else the abyss had shown her. Krolia took a step toward him and gestured at his right arm...or what remained if it. “May I?” 

Shiro nodded and looked away as her gaze dropped to the mechanism. He then closed his eyes when Krolia reached out to touch, one clawed hand running over the metal while the other braced itself against his collarbone, as if to steady him. He was thankful for that anchor: he could feel himself slipping, a tremor starting somewhere in his legs. 

“I've seen technology like this before, though not in this form,” Krolia told him. “What did it do?” 

Shiro inhaled sharply at the question and clenched his eyes tighter.  His memories and yet not. No, he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about how it had ripped through flesh and bone, replacing living tissue with vicious metal. Didn't want to think about the agony, the cold fire that had eaten him, drained him, turned him into a monster, a weapon. Didn't want to think about the beam of light that had cut through the platform and the terrible certainty that it had used his own life force against him. Against him _and Keith._ Didn't want to think about the darkness that had come before, that had swallowed him, buried him, drowned him. 

Because it would be too easy to slip back under. 

A gentle touch pulled him back from the brink as a pair of cool hands cradled his face between them. The murmured sound of his name on someone's lips. _Krolia. Her name is Krolia._ Shiro blinked his eyes open again and met the Galra's steady gaze, realized he was crying when tears blurred his vision. 

Krolia's eyes were focused but kind while she ran her long thumbs over his cheek bones. Then, gentle and coaxing, Krolia said, “Tell me what it did.” 

Choking on the words, fighting desperately against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, Shiro managed through clench teeth, _“It devoured.”_  

Releasing his face, Krolia pulled him against her, her long arms encircling his head and shoulders. Shiro gasped, stunned by the open affection. Recovering, he drew his left arm around her waist while she ran her fingers through his hair. She held him as he shook apart; she held him still after his legs finally gave out and she lowered them to the floor. 

Even as he asked, “Why—why—why—?” 

She answered only, “You're alright. You're safe. You're not alone.” 

And for the time, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] If you think Shiro wouldn’t deploy a [Beatles reference](https://youtu.be/t1Jm5epJr10) when internalizing the mindmeld with Kuron, you’re lying to yourself. Goo goo g'joob.


	13. Bannermen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on Earth, Shiro retreats to the Garrison’s memorial for a moment of quiet contemplation. Keith follows him.

Shiro stood before the makeshift memorial to the Garrison’s fallen and couldn't help the feeling that perhaps he was becoming a bit of a ghost himself, haunting this quiet corner of the complex. It had been so much, too much to process when Iverson first brought him here, made worse by the knowledge that Adam was gone. Every conversation, every word he had ever wanted to say to him. To apologize, to reconcile, to make amends… Impossible now.

He grit his teeth against the anger that surged. They hadn't started this, none of them. And he knew well enough that without the Lions, Earth had offered the Galra no strategic advantage or benefit. This was personal. And so standing before the wall of faces, he promised them he would end this. One way or another.

His ears then pricked up at the sound of footfalls from behind, a stride he knew well.  Keith. The man stopped several steps behind him, as if asking permission to approach. Shiro took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder.  

Keith stood in his orange-breasted Garrison uniform, back straight and shoulders squared. It was an image that Shiro was still trying to reconcile. The last time he’d seen Keith in orange, he had been several inches shorter and infinitely more volatile.  

Shiro gave him a weak, half-hearted smile. Permission to approach granted.

Keith moved forward to stand beside him. “Iverson said you might be here,” he said by way of explanation and then went quiet again.

Shiro considered the man beside him for a moment, watched Keith watch him.  He found him an unexpected pillar of strength: stable, present, waiting. Patient. Focused. The corner of his lips twitched as if to smile, but he sobered as he turned his gaze back to the rows and rows of faces.  

After a time, Shiro stepped forward to put distance between them once more, walking to the plaques on the wall until he was within arm’s reach. Keith waited and made no move to follow.

Shiro took another moment to collect himself before he could trust his voice. “I knew most of these officers,” he told him at last.  “Some of them were in my year. Others I taught.” As he walked down the wall, he touched the plates and spoke their names, as if doing so made them whole again. “Clutch. Sloe. Notso. Sparkles. Hash. Ahab. Beeker. Giggles. Gadget. Tread…”  He strode up and down the wall, naming them all. His year, the next year, the next year, the next year…

But when he reached Adam’s nameplate at last, Shiro found the word stuck in this throat, his fingers trembling where they pressed against the brass and glass. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t bear to say it. It hurt too much. Even now, especially now. He inhaled sharply and let his hand fall to his side.

Keith was already beside him, standing close enough for their sleeves to brush. After a shared moment of silence, Keith said only, “I'm sorry.” Heartfelt and solemn.

“Me too,” Shiro said. After a moment he admitted, voice barely a murmur, “I keep thinking…what could I have done differently that they wouldn’t have died? What path should I have taken that I wouldn’t have failed them.”

Beside him, Keith shook his head.  “There’s no way you could have known— _any_ of us could have known—what would happen after the fight with Lotor. How long it would take us to get back. That Sendak would launch some personal vendetta against Earth,” Keith told him.  “You didn’t fail: you held us together and you got us home. Just like you said you would, back when this all started.”

“I also nearly killed all of you, so there’s that,” Shiro countered, the words bitter. They’d come very close. Without Pidge’s quick thinking and Keith’s resilience, all of them would be dust.  Shiro clenched his teeth and kept his eyes on the wall of names before them.

There was a gentle touch at his hand. Feather-light at first, Shiro thought perhaps he’d imagined it. But then long fingers curled around his hand and pressed into his palm.  Shiro looked down and found Keith’s hand in his own. He studied it with startled curiosity as Keith spoke.

“Don’t take that on,” Keith murmured, the words insistent.  “Don’t go down that road of could have and might have and should have. All we can do is keep moving forward. From _here_.”

Something in the way he said it gave Shiro pause. Turning to face Keith, he tightened his grip as he felt Keith start to pull away and asked, “What did the abyss show you: past or future?”

Keith searched his eyes before responding, “Both.” His gaze then drifted away, over Shiro's shoulder. “To a degree.”

“How so?”

“Past memories. Future… possibilities. Junctures, markers, decision points. Infinite paths that lead to even more infinite paths.”

“Have we reached one of these 'junctures?’”

Keith's eyes returned to meet Shiro's with a directness that almost cut. “We've past one already,” he answered, his voice betraying a heavy emotion that he couldn't speak.

Shiro met that unwavering gaze but then his eyes slid to the scar on Keith's cheek and he understood. Meeting Keith’s eyes once more, he asked, “Any insight into whether we win this fight?”

“No,” Keith admitted, looking away again, discouraged. “It… doesn't work like that. I'm sorry. I wish it was more helpful.”

Shiro shook his head. “I'm glad to hear that there's really no such thing as predestination,” he told him honestly. Then smirking, he added, “But I'll admit I was kind of hoping for a 'Turn to page 75 for the _happy_ ending.’”

Keith laughed in spite of himself, though there was a layer of sadness to it. When he looked up once more, his eyes searched Shiro's face for approval, for support, for everything… and Shiro knew he was searching for the same.

The dawning realization softened Shiro’s smile and, releasing Keith's hand at last, he pulled him into a tight embrace which Keith returned readily, his arms wrapping around Shiro's waist.  With his cheek pressed against the crown of Keith’s head, they held each other close, the ghosts their only witnesses.


	14. R&R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sendak is defeated, but the fight is far from over. The calm that follows the Battle for Earth is eerie...punctuated all the more by the Paladins of Voltron still occupying beds in the Garrison’s medical facility. Shiro takes time away from his other duties to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Katsucon 2019! First of what I hope is several chapter updates this weekend. <3

Shiro strode down a familiar hall in the Garrison's medical facility, deftly weaving between clusters of doctors and nurses, patients and visitors. It had become a familiar practice in the week since the final battle for Earth. 

Although physically all the paladins were fine, having sustained only minor injuries, the attack hadn’t been entirely physical. As the dust had settled after the battle, Shiro had come to one logical conclusion: Honerva was still a threat. The mysterious suit from nowhere had stolen Voltron's quintessence with its shotels, something they had been ill-prepared for; but beyond the damage to Voltron, the paladins themselves had suffered as much as their Lions had. Their fall to Earth had been one of the most horrific things Shiro had witnessed, second only to the days that followed as he had waited alongside so many others for their fallen comrades and—truly—saviors to wake up again. 

It had left Shiro feeling useless, and so he had drifted between their rooms like a ghost. He had spotted more than one familiar face haunting the medical facility in much the same way, all of them hoping that maybe _this time_ there would be a change.  Then finally, a week since the fall, Shiro had received a call from Coran: they were awake, or at least...most of them. All except Keith.  Shiro had never left his quarters so quickly. 

Now he darted into the first room he came to and Hunk beamed up at him the moment he stepped inside.  Hunk reached out a hand in greeting, which Shiro took and felt relief wash over him.  Days and days of waiting and then finally!  “How are you feeling?” Shiro asked. 

“Really good.  Which—I guess—is kinda weird, all things considered.  Falling through the atmosphere and all.” Hunk paused and gestured to a couple who stood nearby, saying, “These are my parents.”  He let them exchange names and pleasantries, and Shiro found they had the same warmth that he’d long since come to associate with the man resting on bed.  The realization made him smile all the more.  

Hunk continued then, his eyes still on his parents, “Shiro’s the Black Paladin. Or— _was_ , I mean. Before Keith took over for him. He got us all home.” 

Shiro shook his head.  “You got _yourselves_ home.” 

Hunk turned back to face him, sporting a kind smile. “You kept us alive though, kept us together long enough for us to get back.” 

Shiro moved to protest again but found the words trapped in his throat as something passed between them.  An acknowledgement of shared experience and understanding and forgiveness.  His mouth snapped shut under the weight of Hunk’s quiet acceptance.   

In the silence that creeped into the room, the Garretts reached out once more, this time to thank him.  Flustered, Shiro waved off their gratitude. “There’s no reason to thank me,” he told them.  “It’s been an honor serving with your son.”  Turning to face Hunk once more, he found the man blushing at the praise, a smile plastered on his face.  “And I’m glad you’re feeling better.” 

After a moment, Hunk sobered. “What now?” 

Shiro took a deep breath, his gaze turning inward. “Coran is making the rounds, but...there’s a lot to be done. I think the Lions could do a lot of good, assisting with rebuilding efforts.” 

“Count us in,” Hunk told him without hesitation. “Whatever we can do to help.” 

Shiro focused once more on the younger man and smiled at the determination he saw there. He reached out and shook Hunk’s hand once more. “Thank you,” Shiro said, “for everything.” 

Another moment of something unspoken passed between them before Shiro withdrew and made his way down the hall. 

*****

The Holt siblings were debating...something. He could hear them from the hallway as he approached and even as he drew closer he had trouble discerning _all_ of the particulars of this round of technobabble. He had gotten better over the years together, but the Holts were a force to be reckoned with and always would be.

Shiro chuckled to himself as he stepped into Pidge’s room and rapped his knuckles on the door jamb.  Matt and Pidge looked up from their heated discussion and shot him mirrored grins.  “I take it you’re doing better,” Shiro said as he crossed to Pidge’s bedside.   

“Much. Thanks,” Pidge replied, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose. She then squinted up at him and pressed her fingertips into her temple in a charade of focusing all of her mental capacity. “Shapeshift any massive robots with your mind lately?” 

Shiro laughed despite the uneasy feeling in his stomach. “No, not lately,” he said. “To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how it happened.” 

“Yeah, Dad said that _shouldn't_ have happened,” Matt said. “As in, not actually possible. He's been pouring over the schematics since the battle.” 

Before Shiro could respond, Pidge cut in. “Maybe not possible for _you_ ,” she challenged with a haughty smirk, “but Shiro's a Paladin of Voltron, so. Communicating with sentient monster robots is kinda what we do. Piece of cake.” 

“You have any special powers you're not telling me about?” Matt pressed his sister. 

“Wouldn't _you_ like to know.” 

Matt laughed heartily at this.  “My sister’s so cool.” Then, looking at Shiro, he added, “My _friends_ are so cool.  I’m just sitting here enjoying my best life, watching you guys be awesome.” 

“Speaking of being awesome,” Pidge began, turning her attention back to Shiro, her demeanor turning serious.  “When do I get out of here?” 

“Cabin fever already?” Shiro asked with a knowing smile. 

“It’s just...I know there’s a lot to do,” Pidge said, her voice soft. “I’m not helping anyone while I’m just lying around.”  She then grinned up at him then, playful once more. “Think you can bust me out?” 

Shiro laughed. “I’ll see what I can do to fast-track your medical assessment with the staff,” he assured. 

***** 

When he reached Allura, he found her seated in the center of her bed and propped up by pillows.  Coran jumped to his feet at the sight of Shiro in the doorway and excused himself, despite Shiro and Allura’s assurances that he could stay.  Left alone, the two of them laughed and shook their heads while Shiro crossed to Coran’s recently-vacated chair and sat down at Allura’s bedside. 

“You seem to be doing better,” Shiro observed.

Allura smiled.  “Quite.  Coran tells me we’ve all been sleeping for quite some time.” 

“He’s been a tremendous help to the Garrison’s medical staff regarding Altean physiology,” Shiro told her.  “Did you know your heart’s on the wrong side?” he asked with a lop-sided grin, tapping the right side of his chest. 

“It’s on the _correct_ side.” 

“Not on Earth, it’s not.” 

Allura laughed and shook her head. “Seems you’re feeling better as well.” 

Shiro’s smile softened. “For the most part,” he acknowledged as his gaze turned inward. “There’s still...some things that are occupying my thoughts.” 

“Tell me,” she encouraged.  “Maybe I can help.” 

Shiro focused on Allura once more, found her patient and supportive.  It gave him the confidence he needed to speak his mind.  “Well for starters, I think you’re still holding out on me, princess.” 

Allura’s eyes turned on him, betraying her sudden concern. “What do you mean?” 

Shiro crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair, fighting a smirk.  “Care to explain how I was able to transform the ATLAS by sheer force of will?” 

At this, she offered him a reassuring smile.  “I told you before that ‘there are those with the power to create,’” she said. “I wasn’t being figurative. You have alchemy in you Shiro. You always have, though I will admit I didn’t recognize it for what it was until after Oriande. But even so, yours is…” she trailed off to consider it before settling on, “wilder. Less restrained. Human.” 

“Alchemy,” he echoed, shock and skepticism warring in his head and—he was sure—on his face. 

Allura's smile turned playful.  “I didn’t choose you as the Black Paladin because you were tall.” 

*****

Shiro stepped into Lance’s room and found the space noticeably empty. Lance himself at first didn’t notice him at the entryway, his gaze unfocused and trained on the wall opposite his bed. Only after Shiro knocked on the door as he walked inside did the young man look up, offering a tired smile.  “Hey,” Lance said. 

“This is the _emptiest_ I’ve ever seen your room,” Shiro said with a grin. “I had to give myself a pep talk before walking over here just so I could carry a conversation with your family. And yet—” he gestured to the otherwise empty room before dropping into the chair next to Lance’s bedside, “—all for naught.”   

“Have they really been here?  While I’ve been out?” 

There was some uncharacteristic sadness to the question.  Shiro nodded, hoping to dispel whatever doubts Lance had taken to heart.  “All the time. Coran has been making calls, so I expect they’ll be here in short order.  I’m a poor substitute, I know,” he acknowledged then, “but I’ll stay till they get here.” 

At this, Lance brightened.  “Did we win?” he asked. 

“This round, yes.” 

“How are the others?” 

“From what I can tell, feeling much the same as you,” Shiro assured him.  “Pidge, Hunk, Allura...all of them are ready to get out of bed and get back to work, despite having just woken up today.”   

“And Keith?” The question was soft, hesitant.  As if Lance feared the answer. 

Shiro sighed. “Sleeping. Still.” 

Lance nodded, internalizing the information. “He’ll be alright,” he said, though it was unclear if he was trying to convince himself or Shiro.  “Besides,” he continued, “you two are hard to kill.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Shiro countered, smirking. “You’ve been right there with us. Literally. Right. Since you were. The right hand—” 

Lance grimaced and groaned.  “That’s horrible, even for you.” 

“—a _red_ right hand, come to think of it,” Shiro mused, the chords of some faint half-forgotten song drifting in his subconscious.  “We never did change your armor.” 

“Keith seemed reluctant to let go of it,” Lance said, “even when he ditched us for the Blades.” 

Shiro smirked. “Let’s be honest: did you _really_ want Keith’s hand-me-downs?” 

Lance scoffed, loudly and dramatically, at the very suggestion. 

*****

At last, Shiro stepped into the final room and was faced with the same image as so many times before: Keith unconscious on the hospital bed, Krolia perched not far away. Shiro sighed, his hope fading. “Still sleeping?” Shiro crossed to the bedside chair that they'd long since established was his through some silent, mutual understanding. 

Krolia nodded, her gold eyes sliding back to Keith. As Shiro sat down, she reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Keith's face. “There’s been no change,” she murmured. “The other paladins have recovered. I'm concerned that he hasn’t.” 

The confession was too close to his own dark thoughts. Shaking his head to clear them, Shiro asked, “How long have you been here today?” 

After a moment, Krolia acknowledged, “I don’t know.  Perhaps since yesterday.”  

Shiro had little doubt: she looked exhausted, her skin ashen and dark circles under her eyes. “You should go get some sleep,” he said gently. 

“But what if…”  She turned her eyes back to him, unable to fully form the words. She didn’t need to; Shiro could read them in her face. _What if he wakes up and I’m not here.  What if the worst happens and I’m not here._  

“I’ll call you if there’s any change. I promise. But for now, please get some rest.” 

Krolia turned her eyes back to Keith but then her fatigue won out. She leaned forward and kissed Keith’s forehead before standing.  Moving around to the other side of the bed, she dropped her hand to Shiro’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, “for staying with him.” 

Shiro reached up and took her hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze as Krolia leaned down and rested her temple against the crown of his head. “He’ll be alright,” he said. Again those words, again the ambiguity of who they were meant to comfort. Perhaps both of them. 

Krolia lingered a moment longer, seeming to draw some strength from him, before withdrawing. “I won’t be long,” she told him as she slipped from the room. 

Left alone once more, Shiro let his eyes drift back to the form on the bed and studied Keith’s too-still face.  He searched for something, anything that would give him a sign that Keith was on the mend, that there had been some improvement in the days since the battle. “They say that people in comas can hear you, but we both know that's not what this is,” Shiro said taking up a practice he had started few days back with his silent companion.  There'd been no discernable change yet.  “Even so…” he mused to himself, “maybe it'll help.” 

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and studied his mismatched hands. He spoke as if providing a status update to a teammate. “The others have woken up. They’re doing well, full recovery. They’ll probably be released tomorrow. I know they’re anxious to get back to work and help with the rebuilding efforts. They have the same restlessness that you do; it just comes in different flavors. 

“You’re the last hold-out,” Shiro continued and couldn’t help the half-hearted smile that graced his lips.  Unseen, it faded quickly.  “Krolia has been here as often as I have. We think you got the worst of it, because of your connection with the Black Lion. It’s the biggest source of quintessence, so...goes without saying, I suppose.” 

Shiro sighed and ran his hand through his short hair, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck before dropping it once more.  “Krolia’s worried about you,” he confided.  “Admittedly everyone’s worried about you, but her especially.  I think she was able to keep it at bay until the others recovered.  She’s more on edge today than I’ve seen her recently.  I also don’t think she’s slept much since she arrived. I hope you don't mind that I called her.” 

He reflected on the Galra, thought of the steel of her resolve and the kindness in her eyes as she looked at Keith, at Shiro himself. He was still unsure of what he had done to deserve that transparent affection. “She loves you so much,” he told Keith. “I hope you know that, I hope you’ll always accept it. I’m glad you found her. You _should_ be loved unconditionally.” 

He lapsed into silence then. The word had stuck to his tongue: _love_. Krolia wasn’t the only one who loved unconditionally. The knowledge sent shocks through his system, a thrill...and fear. Hope. Uncertainty. Straightening, Shiro ran his tongue along the back of his teeth and slid his chair closer to the bed. He crossed his arms over the sheets and studied Keith’s still form. 

Keith loved him, had told him as much. _As a brother,_ he berated himself, _just a brother._ But there was something deeper that lingered and made him doubt.  Maybe at first, maybe that had been all it was: a fraternal sort of love. That made sense and rang true in his head, thinking back to their time on Earth before Kerberos, before his capture, before all of this. 

But at some point...at some point it had _shifted._ As if through a series of disconnected and yet interwoven steps they had taken either together or independently, they had landed on a _new_ path than the one they had first started down. Keith had told him he had seen ‘markers’ in the abyss, but not where they led. _Perhaps because there’s not a **destination** at the end_, a voice whispered from the back of his mind. 

“You told me you loved me,” Shiro whispered. “I think you meant it, in that moment. But something like love shouldn’t be associated with such violence.” He scrubbed his face with his hand before he pressed his fingers against his mouth, as if to silence himself before I could say more. 

But he would say more. “Everything is still...jumbled together. Overlapping, conflicting. What I feel for you has changed. But it’s...complex and contradictory.” He smiled in spite of himself. “Kind of like you, as it happens. 

“You mean so much to me, but I haven’t been able to put all the pieces together yet.” Shiro paused and took a deep breath. He worried his lower lip between his teeth before he pressed on. “You were a life line, during the worst of it. As I— _he_ started to fall apart, you were there...even when you weren’t. You were a constant. For us both. 

“Even before this, long before all of this...you never doubted me. You never said I _couldn’t_ or that I _shouldn’t_.  You never saw my disease as a weakness, just some...mission parameter that needed to be navigated.   

“And then when I came back…” Shiro swallowed thickly, closing eyes eyes against the prick of tears. “When I came back as this...broken and frightened and mutilated shadow of myself, you still accepted me. You took it on and moved forward, kept _me_ moving forward. 

“I love you for that.  For your kindness and your strength.  For your temper and righteousness and your refusal to accept defeat.  And for all the millions of times that you should have given up on me and didn’t.  So don’t give up on yourself.  Not now; not ever.”  He reached forward and took Keith’s hand in his, his fingers curling under Keith's toward his palm, careful of the IV that had been secured to the back of his hand.  “Come back to me,” he whispered. “Come back to me, Keith.”


	15. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memories aren’t his, and yet...they are. They jumble together with perverse synchronicity: present and absent, alive and dead, pawn and prisoner. Shiro has come to peace with the dichotomy, but now that the immediate danger is abated, he’s left wondering what’s real and what could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy End-of-Katsucon 2019!

Shiro dropped onto the center of the couch in his quarters at the Garrison while Keith kicked off his boots at the entrance. If it wasn’t for the gnawing question of whose quarters he had inherited and why, he could almost pretend it was like old times, before Kerberos, back when Keith still sported orange as they talked late into the evening. Though truthfully, the red in Keith’s jacket did as much to dispel the thought as the unfamiliar floorplan. 

“Congrats on the battlefield promotion,” Keith said smirking as he approached from across the room. 

The surviving Garrison leadership had fleeted Shiro up a rank in a quiet, private ceremony as work shifted from recovery and rebuilding efforts to onward operational planning.  The additional stripe on his shoulders felt heavy.  Shiro grimaced. 

Keith laughed.  “You wear it well,” he assured. 

Shiro snorted, doubtful.  “About as well as ordering you to the Fimm System.” [1]

There was an unmistakable skipped beat as Keith’s steady stride faltered. “You remember that?” Keith asked, unable to mask his surprise. 

Shiro’s thoughts soured further.  “Depends on who you ask,” he said. “Depends on who responds.” 

Keith’s face was unreadable as he considered this non-answer. After a time, he seemed to come to a realization and said, “You’re both in there.”   

 _Broken._ Shiro winced and looked away so he wouldn’t have to look up into those violet eyes that saw too much. 

Keith meanwhile took a few hesitant steps toward him.  “Mom had told me your memories were coalescing. I didn’t consider the possibility that you were doing it together.” 

Closing his eyes, Shiro shuddered. Waves of grief and regret and something like missed opportunities hammered at his mind. They were his, not his, would be his. _Please_ , some voice in the back of his mind said as it tried and failed to pull back, fighting unsuccessfully against the tide. _Please just—_ “Forget I said anything,” Shiro whispered. 

“No…” Keith murmured, closing the remaining distance that separated them and taking a seat on the couch beside him.  “Talk to me.” 

“I don't think you know what you're asking.” 

“Try me.” 

Shiro looked up to face the man beside him and discovered he held Keith’s whole focus, as if the rest of the universe had slipped away. It sent a thrill down his spine. Looking away again, he admitted, “It’s an odd feeling. There and not there. Together with the coalition and alone. The battles and the void. Tangible and dust. Him. Me. 

“But I don’t think that division will exist much longer,” Shiro continued. “I’m losing sight of which is which and I don’t always know where he ends and I begin. So I study his memories and how they made him feel. How they make _me_ feel.” 

When he didn’t immediately continue, Keith prompted, “And?  How do they make you feel?” 

“Conflicted,” Shiro said. “I don’t like looking at them. I’m angry with him because of what he did, but I can _feel_ the pain that’s attached to the memories of it.” He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths to steady himself. This time, Keith waited and after a moment of shared silence, Shiro continued, “I extracted the last of the witch’s hooks while I—we—were in the void. I know her influence is gone. But it doesn’t make the fear that we missed something any less. 

“And if I allow myself to...step aside, he starts to overwhelm me.” Even as he said it, he could feel it happening. The flood. He struggled to keep his mind above it as the clone’s sadness rolled in with it like so much dark water. “He’s sorry. So sorry. For everything. And he’s scared that it will happen again, that he’ll hurt you again. He can’t bear the thought of it because...because he loves you,” Shiro said at last, the words choked in his throat by the rush of emotion that followed them. He kept his eyes closed against the tears that threatened and dragged himself away from the heartache. Taking a deep breath, he more firmly rooted himself into his own head—not that it offered any less turmoil—and waited for Keith to say something, anything. 

When he did, it was soft and delicate, barely a whisper. “He loves me?” Shiro nodded. Keith then asked, hesitant, “Do...do _you_ love me?” 

Shiro winced and opened his eyes at last, keeping his gaze focused across the room. _Conflicted._ His own feelings surrounding the man beside him had changed, but how much was due to the clone’s influence and how much was his own making, Shiro couldn’t be sure. So instead, he reached back into painful memories. “You told me you loved me.” 

Keith sensed the balance shift and followed. “Yes.” 

“As a brother.” 

“No.” The denial was swift and dyed in apology. At this, Shiro did turn to face him once more and found those violet eyes overflowing with some nameless emotion.  “I know what I said.  But...but the moment I said it, I knew it was wrong.  I knew it wasn’t... _enough_.  It fell short.”  Keith’s gaze turned inward as he studied himself, studied his heart.  “I—I don’t have a reference for what I feel for you.  I’ve never experienced it with anyone else.  I don’t know what it is.  It’s intense and overpowering and constant and...certain.  And it’s only you. It’s only ever been you.” 

“How long?” Shiro asked. 

Keith’s gaze returned to meet his and he said, “I don’t know.  A long time.”  He then dropped his eyes to the empty space between them as he struggled to string words together.  “When I lost you again, after the fight with Zarkon. I—I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t—I got you back only to lose you again and it—it _broke_ me and I couldn’t tell them _why_.”  Keith’s shoulders trembled under the weight of the memory and he brought a hand up to cover his eyes.  “When I got you back it was like... _something_ out there _finally_ listened to me.  But it...it wasn’t until the abyss—two years in the abyss—that I _knew_. 

“I wanted to tell you, needed to tell you, _should have_ told you,” Keith said, “but I—but there was _so much_ we needed to do and I—I just couldn’t—” The words withered on his tongue like dying flowers. 

And so Shiro reached forward, cradled Keith’s face in his palm, and kissed him. 

There was a startled gasp against his lips moments before Keith’s arms found their way around his shoulders.  The kiss was chaste at first, gentle and coaxing even while Shiro’s heart raced and hammered in his ears.  

But then Keith reached up to comb long fingers through his short hair, drawing him closer as his tongue darted forward. An enticement, a lover’s caress. Shiro sighed as Keith deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding past parted lips. Hesitant and uncertain at first, a slow exploration of the senses as much as the heart. As Shiro met him, followed his lead, he felt Keith shudder. The fingers in Shiro’s hair tightened and he groaned, his left hand slipping from Keith’s face to find purchase on his uniform. Keith’s kisses grew insistent and hungry then, telling secrets of wants and desires and needs buried for so, so long.  Shiro let himself drown in them, feeling the heat rise under his skin. 

Keith then dropped his weight backwards, pulling Shiro with him, on top of him. As gravity shifted, Shiro’s right arm shot forward to brace against the armrest, slowing their descent. Still Keith clung to him, held him, kept him captured in his arms as he stole his breath away time and again. It left Shiro feeling dizzy and drunk, overcome with the taste of Keith on his tongue and the feel of him beneath him. 

They at last parted, gasping, and as Shiro withdrew, he became distinctly aware of the bent leg at his hip and the weight of Keith’s hands as they slid down his chest and settled at his waist.  He opened heavy-lidded eyes to stare down at the man under him, propped up by his right hand still braced against the couch beneath them both.  Keith’s lips were swollen and kiss-bruised, parted as his breathing slowed. A deep flush colored his cheeks and in his violet eyes was a familiar infinity. Shiro’s gaze slid then to the scar on his cheek—a mark _he_ had left, a testimony of the violence he was capable of. He felt the air freeze in his lungs as he reached out to caress it with trembling fingertips. 

Keith brought a hand up from its place at his waist and took Shiro’s hand in his own, pressing his palm flat against his cheek and leaning into the touch. He then kissed the pad of Shiro’s thumb as it glided past his lips and stared up at him, waiting. Patient. Focused. 

“Would you still say it,” Shiro whispered, the words feeling like spun glass, “knowing what you do now? Would you still, after everything that’s happened, everything you’ve seen?” 

Keith’s gaze softened and he smiled, slow and gentle, and when he spoke it was a benediction. “I love you.” 

Shaking, Shiro exhaled the breath he’d been holding, the air stuttering past his lips moments before he leaned forward and captured Keith’s lips with his own once more. A promise, this time to keep to whatever end. 

Shiro pulled away then and shifted down to lay his head on Keith’s chest, his left arm wrapping around the man’s waist.  Keith meanwhile traced patterns and constellations across his back with his fingertips.  Shiro closed his eyes, relishing in the touch, as he tightened his hold on him and listened to the steady rhythm of Keith’s heart.  There was danger on the road ahead, and even after they had faced so much and come out victorious against all odds, Shiro couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to hope for a soft epilogue. 

But for now. 

For just this moment. 

It was enough. 

It was enough that he was loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Fimm System is referenced in S4E1. Shiro (Kuron) and Keith have a bit of a confrontation on the team's priorities, which results in the infamous, "That's an order," line.


	16. All Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the remnants of the Galaxy Garrison and Earth’s resistance finalize efforts to secure the planet’s defenses, Shiro stops by the Garrison’s medical suite for some much-delayed tests. The results lead to a startling discovery and a next step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And UP goes the rating! Aka, “Aw yeah, GET IT Shiro.” This chapter's the reason the series now is rated "Explicit." If that’s not your cup of tea, you can read until the kiss and then jump ahead.
> 
> I'd also like to thank [NBNihilistPidg3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBNihilistPidg3) for the read through! <3

Shiro didn’t hurt.   

Not like he used to, at least.  He had grown accustomed to the ache from battles gone by and the phantom pain in his right arm was an ever-present reminder of its absence.  But the disease that was devouring him from within, _that_ pain was...gone. 

And if he was honest with himself, it had been gone for a long time. More puzzling was perhaps that when he dipped into his clone’s memories, he found nothing that would suggest he struggled with the agony of it at all during his time with the paladins. 

He spent days scrounging together the courage to go down to the Garrison’s medical facility. When he finally had, he navigated the space with practiced ease operating on muscle memory until he reached the labs. He stepped inside and found a single nurse at her station. He was thankful for the privacy as she stood and greeted him with a warm smile. 

“What can I do for you, Sir?” 

“I’d like to run some tests before we ship out,” Shiro said, surprised at how calm he sounded. “I figured now was as good a time as any.” 

“Of course,” she answered and gestured to a seat nearby.  As Shiro strode forward, she turned back to her console and asked, “What tests are you looking to run?” 

“All of them,” Shiro replied. 

The nurse was wholly unprepared for such an answer. Her attention darted from her console and she reassessed him with sharp eyes. “What are we looking for?” 

“Anything.  But especially _this_ ,” he answered, handing her a folded slip of paper.  On it he had written the name of the disease which had stolen his future and was startlingly absent from his present.  The nurse took the paper and read the words written there.  She then raised her eyes to meet his steady gaze once more, clearly alarmed.  Shiro didn't give her an explanation and let the moment pass.  Finally, he said, “Discretion is appreciated.” 

The nurse nodded and handed the scrap of paper back to him.  “‘Patient X’ it is, then,” she said, turning to the workstation as her demeanor shifted to strictly business.  Shiro watched as she entered data into her computer while she spoke.  “With the coalition pooling resources, we’ve been able to incorporate additional data into our systems.  We’ll be able to scan for more than what was resident here on Earth.  I can have the results back within the hour.”  Pausing in her exposition, she pulled a sterilized package from a drawer and turned back to him.  “Roll up your sleeve.” 

*****

When he had gotten the results back, Shiro had absorbed the news in shock. He had kept his senses about him long enough to thank the nurse for her time. He had then retreated back to his quarters in a haze, trusting his feet to get him there without running into anyone or tripping on any stairs. 

Once inside and tucked safely away from unwanted attention, Shiro shut the door and collapsed back against it. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths and counted to five on each inhale and exhale. It grounded him somewhat, but did little to dispel the disbelief. 

Shiro withdrew his mobile from his pocket and keyed a familiar account. It rang straight to voicemail, which he knew would be the case. Keith and the others were running drills with the MFE pilots to avoid going soft in the downtime, though they would be wrapping up soon. At the prompt, Shiro said, “It’s me.” He worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before he could speak again. “When you get this, can you come over? I’m off-duty the rest of the evening and I need to talk to you.” He debated saying more and opted not to, hanging up instead. 

He pushed away from the door and wandered into the kitchenette...but then wandered back out into the living area. When he realized he had been standing in the center of the space in a daze for several minutes, aimless, he turned on his heel and moved down the short hallway into the bedroom. 

Again, he stilled and stood alone with his thoughts in the center of the room. But as the silence stretched around him, his skin started to crawl, as if there was an energy building just underneath that lacked an outlet. His fingers twitched. 

With a shaky breath, Shiro started to undress, willing his feet to pace about the room, needing the constant motion. He tapped the cap at his shoulder, the mechanism releasing with a hiss and he set the device atop the desk as he passed. He then set to work on his uniform, changing into a pair of black sweats and a tank top he pulled from the closet. 

He paused then, considering the shoulder cap he'd set aside earlier while his hand drifted to his right arm. _No,_ he thought. Not now, he didn't need it now. He didn't want it now. Flipping a panel open on the metal forearm, Shiro counted to three, exhaled, and powered down the device, the neural links’ disconnection making him shudder. He set it down next to the shoulder cap, the metal clinking against the surface. 

Shiro drew his left arm around his waist then, his hand clutching at his side as he finally stilled and dropped down on the edge of his bed. Finally, finally now. Stripped down to himself, rank and authority and necessity removed. Now he could allow himself to embrace it. 

It was gone. 

The disease...it was gone. 

He whimpered past the tightness in his throat and brought his hand up to his mouth, stifling the sound. It was gone, it was gone. 

What now? 

How long he had sat on his bed, lost in his own mind, he wasn't sure. But at some point, the door to his quarters hissed open and someone stepped inside. “Shiro?” Keith called. 

“Here,” he called back, the word weak on his tongue. 

There were a series of heavy footsteps moments before Keith rounded the corner and appeared in the doorway. From across the room, their eyes met and for a breathless moment neither of them moved. 

And then Keith was upon him, his arms coming around Shiro's shoulders, long fingers tangling in short hair. “What is it?” Keith asked as Shiro wrapped his arm around his waist, holding him close even as Keith pulled away, taking his face in his hands. “What happened?” 

“I…” Words failed him, staring up into fearful violet eyes. Shiro tried again. “I went to medical. Had them run tests. Keith...Keith, it's gone.” 

“What's gone?” 

“The disease. The disease that was killing me. I don't have it. _He_ didn't have it.” Closing his eyes, Shiro could feel the sting of tears, the well of turbulent emotion rising up. He clung tighter to Keith, using him as an anchor. 

“This...this is good news,” Keith told him as he embraced him again. “I had thought—” But he couldn't finish the sentiment, his voice faint. Instead, he ran his hands in soothing circles across Shiro's shoulders. “This is good news,” he repeated. 

They held each other in silence, Shiro's faced pressed against Keith's chest. It was so much, too much. It was gone… And again that question: what now? He felt a terrifying thrill, a universal certainty—all paths were narrowing again, down to another juncture, another crossroads. Shiro shuddered, his arm flexing where it rested against Keith's back. 

“I _dreamed_ of this,” Shiro told him, voice wavering.  “I was a kid when they diagnosed me. And since then...I would dream of them handing me a piece of paper that said I was cured, that I wasn’t sick anymore. I never thought…” He took a deep breath before he continued, “I have _grieved_ for the future I would never have and _fought_ for every moment I did.  And now...what do I do?” 

For a time Keith said nothing and Shiro listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, felt the movement of his chest as he breathed. Eventually, Keith answered, “You have all the time in the world now. You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want, be with whoever you want…” 

Again, that narrowing of infinite focus. Shiro felt something like electricity race down his spine and into his limbs. He pulled back to look up at Keith and found the man's face a mask of calm reassurance, almost like resignation. _No…_ “Stay,” Shiro said. “Stay with me. Please.” His hand shifted from Keith's back to fall against his hip. He pressed his thumb down into yielding flesh and watched Keith's lips part in a sharp inhale. “Stay.” 

Keith's tongue darted forward to wet his lips and when he spoke, he sounded breathless. “To what end?” 

“To whatever end. To _every_ end. To any that you would allow me.”

Keith studied him for a time, his hands coming up to run his fingers through Shiro's hair again. The caress held a promise that wasn't there before and it made Shiro's eyes flutter. Keith then cupped his chin between his hands and leaned down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss that was everything Shiro ached for. He hummed into the kiss and let his eyes slide shut even as he brought his hand up to touch Keith’s face with reverence, fingertips tracing the scar that marked his cheek. 

But then Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith and _pulled_ , the other man coming easily up to straddle his hips as they broke the kiss, laughing.  There was a glimmer of tears in Keith’s eyes and Shiro tightened his grip at his waist, smiling up at him.  [1] 

They kissed again, but the sweetness it held slowly melted away, replaced by something hungrier.  Dropping his arm behind him, Shiro levered them further up the bedsheets before he returned his hand to Keith’s hip and let gravity pull him backward, the two of them toppling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.   

Keith’s mouth fell away with a sigh and his teeth nipped at Shiro’s jawline, his neck, his tongue and lips quickly soothing away any hurt.  His hands slid under the thin fabric of Shiro’s tank top, fingertips drawing constellations on his skin.  Those hands then moved further down his body, sending shivers down Shiro's spine, coming to rest at the waistband of his sweatpants which now hung loose on his hips. Asking permission. Shiro angled his hips up into the touch and groaned as Keith's mouth returned to his own. One of the hands at his hip slipped lower, pressing through the thin fabric against his cock which twitched in response. It was good, but not enough. Against Keith's lips, Shiro whispered, “Please.” 

It was all the encouragement Keith needed. His tongue slid easily between Shiro's lips as his hand dipped beneath his clothes. Shiro moaned as Keith's hand moved on his length with a gentle, almost exploratory touch while his tongue _demanded_. Shiro wanted this, _needed_ this, needed _Keith,_ needed his dichotomies and contradictions and conflicts to pull at all the frayed edges of himself and undo him. 

Shiro reached up to tangle his fingers in Keith's hair and rolled his hips up into the other man, felt the answering hardness beneath his pressed black slacks. This time is was Keith's turn to groan, the sound rumbling through his chest and against his lips. Shiro used the distraction to pull away from the kiss, his teeth nipping at Keith's bottom lip. “We're wearing too many clothes,” he said before he allowed Keith to kiss him again. 

Though not for long.  Pulling away, Shiro focused on Keith’s uniform, deftly working the clasps at his chest before shifting attention to his belt and making short work of that too.  Keith shrugged quickly out of his jacket and pulled off the undershirt while he was at it.  He then tugged Shiro’s tank top over his head and tossed it off to the side.   

They rid themselves of the rest of their clothes, stealing kisses and caresses with every new inch of exposed skin.  But once naked and tangled together, Keith drew back to look down at Shiro, fingers gentle where they touched his cheek.  “Show me,” Keith whispered. “Show me how to make you feel good.” 

Shiro felt as if all the air had been punched from his lungs.  Staring up into those earnest violet eyes, he swallowed thickly and felt a fire light under his skin.  He shifted then, reaching for the end table and opening the drawer while Keith withdrew further, sitting back on his heels and settling between Shiro’s legs.  Shiro rummaged in the drawer for only a moment before he returned with a tube of lube in-hand and sat upright. 

“Should I even ask how you managed to find that post-invasion?” Keith asked.

Shiro smirked but focused on unscrewing the cap with his thumb.  “Where there’s a will…” he said, trailing off. He then caveated, “Besides, you should always be prepared for _whatever_ scenario.” 

“You _planning_ on getting lucky?” 

Shiro looked up then. He found Keith’s smile teasing and playful but beneath there was some quiet tension. _Nerves._ Hooking his legs around Keith’s kneeling form, he answered, “ _Hoping,_ maybe.”  Then wrapping his arm around Keith’s waist, he enticed, “Come here.” 

Keith came willingly and Shiro kissed him, slow and reassuring and affectionate.  He gave him all the soft things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words and felt Keith's tension melt away.  Parting at last, Shiro pressed their foreheads together and murmured.  “Give me your hand.” 

Keith offered it and Shiro poured some of the contents of the tube into his palm before tossing it aside.  He kissed Keith again as he helped in coat his fingers.  Then he unhooked his legs once more, bent one knee, and lay back, guiding Keith’s hand down, down, down—“Start with one. And go slow,” Shiro told him, managing a weak, lopsided smile. “It's been awhile.”  

Poised kneeling between his legs, Keith nodded, his cheeks flushed and eyes locked onto Shiro’s own with such singular focus it made him shiver. He felt one slick finger tease his entrance before slowly sliding inside him, retreating when it met resistance and then pressing forward again, easing him open.   

Shiro exhaled slowly, the breath trembling as it left him, and closed his eyes.  It had been so, so long… So long since anyone had touched him like this.  So long since he’d let anyone come close enough.  And Keith… Keith was so gentle, almost hesitant.  It left him wanting.  “Add another,” he instructed.  Keith obeyed and Shiro sighed as his fingers brushed past his prostate, lighting sparks in their wake.  He rocked his hips in a shallow thrust but felt Keith still, unsure. 

“Move with me,” Shiro urged, his hand coming down to touch Keith's forearm. He rolled his hips, this time sensing Keith follow him, and groaned. God, it felt good, felt good for someone to slowly take him apart with such dedicated intent, the fraying of his senses as Keith brushed against that spot inside him again. He gasped, his hand tightening on Keith's arm. “Angle up,” he instructed, “up—” And he did, oh he did. It sent lightning bolts through his body, his head falling back against the pillow as Keith's fingers moved inside him. 

There was a gentle teasing at his entrance, a third finger. Again, asking permission. “Yes—please—” Shiro gasped and Keith complied, sliding a third digit inside. Shiro shuddered, his arm falling back to curl near his head. “Fuck…” he cursed as he let himself succumb to the languid rhythm they found together. A fire burned under his skin, fueled by the _insistence_ of Keith's touch. He could come for him now, just like this. He knew it: he could feel it building within him. And as his hand fisted the bedsheets by his head and he writhed under Keith's studious ministrations, Shiro almost wanted to. 

Almost. 

With a disappointed groan, he directed, “Stop.” Immediately Keith did so, his fingers stilling and withdrawing without question. Shiro bit his lip against the whine that threatened at their sudden absence, and said instead, “Roll over,” weakly patting the bed beside him with his left hand.   

He felt Keith shift above and around him, Keith's hands gentle where he touched Shiro's chest as he settled beside him. Shiro took a steadying breath, the slow exhale whistling between his pursed lips. He threw ice on his nerves and blinked his eyes open at last to look up at the ceiling. Shiro felt Keith press close, their naked bodies slotting together along his side, felt the length of his hard cock against his hip, and that more than anything drove him to action. 

Shiro sat up and straddled Keith's thigh then, forcing Keith fully onto his back as his hands slid down Shiro's chest and fell away. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of the man beneath him. Hair fanned about his head like a dark halo. The flush in his cheeks had migrated down into his chest, which rose and fell in a steady if impatient rhythm. His pupils were blown wide and black, staring up at him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. 

Tearing his eyes away, Shiro searched briefly for the lube they'd discarded earlier. He found it amidst the tangled sheets and handed it to Keith. “Help,” he said, offering his hand forward. Keith obeyed, dispensing a generous amount into his palm. “That's enough,” he said. Then, “Do arithmetic.” 

Confusion. “What?” 

“Do math,” Shiro instructed without looking at him as he curled his fingers into his palm, spreading the lube more evenly across his hand, and re-positioned to straddle both of Keith's legs. “Two plus two.” 

“What—” 

Now Shiro did meet his eyes and demanded, “Two plus two, Keith.” 

“Four, but—”

“Four plus four?” 

“Eight,” Keith replied, looking put out. “And then sixteen. And then thirty-two. Shiro, why—” His question was cut off, choked in his throat as Shiro wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and gave him a long, slow stroke. With some primal satisfaction, he watched Keith's eyes go wide at the apex as he ran the pad of his thumb over the weeping head. The air in Keith's lungs stuttered out between his lips in a broken, “O-oh,” and his eyes rolled back into his head as he shuddered. 

Shiro smirked. “Thirty-two plus thirty-two.” The man beneath him groaned in response. “Keith.” 

“Sixty-four,” Keith growled, his eyes and jaw both clenched shut. 

“Keep going,” Shiro encouraged as he worked him. He bit his lip as he listened to Keith's breath come in harsh gasps, punctuated by delicious keening whines, and watched Keith's face contort with pleasure...and the struggle with arithmetic, he assumed with a knowing smile. 

He let himself drink in the sight of him, his eyes eventually falling to the cock in his fist. Shiro wet his lips and wondered what he tasted like. He wanted to feel the weight of that length on his tongue, the scent of him filling his nose, wondered if Keith would fist his hair in his hands and drive up into his mouth if he told him it was okay... 

Another time, perhaps.   

For now, Shiro shifted forward to straddle Keith’s hips, guided him to his entrance, and lowered himself slowly and completely onto his hard length.  Shiro groaned, his head dropping back on his shoulders as his eyes slid shut as he settled fully. It had been so so so long and oh, it felt so so so good… Filled and stretched and taken.   

He rolled his hips then—shallow and experimental, teasing—and heard Keith stutter and curse beneath him. His hands found their way to Shiro’s thighs, the familiar weight only encouraging him. Biting his lip against the breath that burned in his lungs, Shiro’s hand splayed against Keith’s stomach. He could feel the flush in his cheeks spread into his chest as he rode Keith’s cock. Slow at first, chasing the languid rhythm they had had earlier. 

But as his breath came in harsh gasps, he registered Keith’s hands running up his thighs to his hips and then further to his stomach, his ribs, his chest... Long fingers traced the scars that marred his skin like something precious, making his muscles twitch and shudder. The caress came with whispered words, reverent like a prayer. “You’re beautiful.” 

As Keith’s fingers ghosted over his chest, Shiro leaned back, his arm shifting from Keith’s stomach behind him to brace against his thigh. His breath stuttered in his chest as Keith’s hands slid back down his torso, unimpeded. It made him feel wonderfully vulnerable and he shivered as Keith’s fingers found their way back to his inner thighs. 

But then strong arms encircled him and Keith sat upright, making him gasp and lose his rhythm as Keith captured his lips with his own. Shiro felt fingers at the base of his skull, holding him in place and he surrendered to the searing kiss.  Shifting his hand to Keith’s shoulder, he rocked down against him, needed more of him— 

Gravity shifted. Air left his lungs in an explosive sigh as he found himself on his back again.  Keith towering above him, crawling forward over him, and Shiro bent his knees up against his ribs. He moaned against Keith’s lips where they hovered over his own as Keith drove his hips forward, burying his cock deep inside him.  Shiro’s eyes slid shut and his arm fell away from Keith’s shoulder as he gave into the steady rhythm he set, driving them closer to the abyss, their harsh pants mingling in the space between them.  

But as Shiro felt himself approach the edge, Keith withdrew, straightening above him.  He managed only a weak, “N—” before Keith hooked his arms under his knees and snapped his hips forward.  Explosions lit behind Shiro’s eyelids as Keith found that spot inside him again. The strangled cry that escaped him was barely human, devolving into a wanton moan. He trembled and shuddered as he came down off the sudden high as Keith slowed his pace to shallow thrusts. 

“Like that?” 

Even in the lustful haze, Shiro thought Keith sounded too damn pleased with himself.  “Quick study,” he hissed between clenched teeth. 

“Good teacher,” Keith countered.  He leaned forward then and in a brief reprieve pressed a sweet kiss to Shiro’s jaw.  He retreated again a moment later and returned to a driving, punishing rhythm that left Shiro at the mercy of his own ecstasy, unraveling under the onslaught. 

Shiro blinked his eyes open at last to take in the sight of the man above him, the man claiming him. Body flushed and slick with sweat, eyes screwed shut and his face contorted in pleasure, Keith was beautiful. And then he saw the— _Teeth_. Fangs. Keith clenched his jaw shut and the jagged edges formed a sharp line just past his lips. Shiro gasped at the sight. The sound brought Keith’s eyes back to him. Heavy-lidded and hungry, the whites were yellow and flashed in the dark room. 

Air trapped and burning in his lungs, Shiro managed a strangled, “Keith—” as he reached forward, needing to feel him, to touch him, to know he was real. To know Keith was with him. 

Keith bent forward then and kissed him with deceptive tenderness, lips and tongue coaxing and promising and sweet like honey even as each thrust drove Shiro closer to the edge.  So close to shattering, he heard Keith murmur, “Takashi...” 

Shiro groaned and shuddered, teetering on the precipice.  He fisted Keith’s hair in his hand, felt him sigh against his lips at the roughness.  “Say my name,” he pleaded, desperate and hungry.  “Say my name again.” 

Keith kissed him again, urgent and hurried. When they parted for air he whispered, “Takashi.” 

Eyes screwed shut, Shiro clung to him and toppled over the edge of the abyss with a strangled cry, Keith following closely behind. 

***** 

Shiro drifted in a euphoric haze.  After a hasty clean-up—which had largely amounted to ‘things to deal with later’—they had collapsed against the sheets in a tangle of limbs, spent and sated.  For a time they had held each other in silence, marked and measured by soft kisses and gentle caresses.  Against his cheek, Shiro could feel the dull thud of Keith’s heart.  His left arm, draped over Keith’s belly, rose and fell with the man’s every breath.  They said nothing for a long time; they didn’t need to.  

Eventually, it was Keith who broke the silence. “You saw my eyes.”   

It wasn’t a question.  Shiro tightened his grip at Keith’s waist.  “I’ve seen them before,” he said.  As soon as the words past his lips, he felt Keith tense underneath him and his heart begin to thud against his ear.  Dark memories rose unbidden into his own mind’s eye of clashing blades and burning wreckage.

Seeking to dispel them, Shiro reached deeper into the times before.  “At the Garrison,” he clarified. “I don’t even remember what prompted it.  But you were...angry and hurt and overwhelmed by it all.  You snapped at me and I saw them then.  But when you turned back around, they were as normal as they ever had been.  So I blamed it on the trick of the light.  It wasn’t until the...the Trial that I started to suspect maybe...” Shiro didn’t finish the thought. 

There was a long pause that followed, and Shiro began to drift away again.  But then, whispered, tentative, “Do I frighten you?” 

“No,” Shiro answered easily. “How could I? How could I be frightened when you’re the one who saved me?” 

He felt Keith sigh—reassured, it seemed—and then press a kiss to the crown of Shiro’s head.  Tilting his head back and craning his neck, he met Keith’s lips with his own and they shared a deep, slow kiss.  Lingering heat.  Promises and secrets and confessions.  Parting once more, Shiro closed his eyes and lay his head back down over Keith’s heart and let its steady beat lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] [Cocky](https://twitter.com/diococky/) did a lovely, sweet piece inspired by this scene which you can find here [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/diococky/status/1105237998373949445) and [on Tumblr](http://cockybusiness.tumblr.com/post/183384765356/commission-for-cosmic-dust-vld-from-her-fic).


	17. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before the IGF ATLAS launches, Shiro takes his own advice and spends some time with someone he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the inclusion of and simultaneous _**diversion from**_ Season 8. As I’ve mentioned to some others already in the comments, I’ll be keeping certain elements of the season’s storyline as a framing guide for the sake of continuity but with major breaks throughout, both in terms of characters’ interactions as well as their fates (heh, spoiler?). From henceforth, we have a “fix it” fic with a side helping of hurt/comfort and occasional fluff.

Shiro cut the engine to the hoverbike next to the towering form of the Black Lion. Glancing over his shoulder, he could still see the dust kicked up by Lance’s ride as he headed back into town. They had both stopped on the road, but at mention of ‘date,’ Shiro had waved him onward with a word of encouragement.  

As dust settled behind him, it seemed they were blessedly alone...for now at least. Shiro strode to the lion’s flank and stretched out a hand to touch the smooth metal.  He wasn’t sure if—but any uncertainty of his welcome vanished when Black’s tethered elevator cable dropped down from overhead. With an appreciative smile, he hooked his hand through the loop and let her pull him skyward.   

Up and up and up to the crown of the lion’s head, where he swung forward with practiced ease and dropped down.  Straightening, he met Keith’s eyes from afar.  “I saw Lance heading back to town carrying a load of kitchenware,” he said, striding forward. “You know anything about that?” 

As he moved, Kosmo stood, blinked out of existence from his place at Keith’s side only to reappear at Shiro’s. The wolf fidgeted, his feet dancing about beneath him until Shiro reached out and pet him.  Kosmo followed him as he walked, nuzzling his hand until Shiro gave him a proper scratch behind the ears.  

Shiro had the distinct impression the wolf smiled up at him seconds before he evaporated again in a flash of blue light, leaving Keith and he alone together.  “Where’d he go?” he asked as he closed the remaining distance between them and sat down.  

“Probably chasing hares,” Keith intoned, sounding nonplussed. 

“...Any chance he’ll track any _intelligent_ life?” 

“He knows not to.” 

Not for the first time, Shiro wondered if there was more to the wolf than Keith had told them. He let the comment slide, however, and turned his eyes to the sunset before them. Reds and golds painted the world around them as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was beautiful and something in him ached at the sight with buried nostalgia. 

From beside him, a whispered confession. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” 

The words were so quiet, Shiro nearly missed them.  Turning, he found Keith’s eyes locked on the horizon as if he was avoiding looking anywhere else.  “Why?” Shiro asked. 

Keith swallowed. His gaze then fell away from the sunset, unfocused somewhere in the middle space before him.  “It’s your command,” he murmured. “I know you’re busy.” 

“I am,” Shiro acknowledged. “I’m also here.”  He watched Keith wince and drop his head, chastised. Shiro continued, “I have a lot more people to worry about now, but don’t think for a moment that you’re not at the top of the list.” 

“One in a cast of hundreds.” 

“No,” Shiro argued and stretched out his left hand to touch the mark, the scar on Keith’s face. The gentle caress startled him; Shiro could feel the reflexive jump even as Keith’s eyes turned to face him.  “ _The_ one in a cast of hundreds. Of thousands. Of millions. Of billions… The further out we go, the number gets bigger. Your place among them doesn’t change.”  He watched Keith’s eyes search his own, an air of desperate hope about them. But then Keith turned away again as if to retreat and it made Shiro reconsider the last few weeks.  Gently, he said, “I’m sorry if I’ve been distant. That wasn’t the intent.” 

“What was the intent?” Keith asked, unable to hide the hurt that Shiro could only assume he had allowed to fester.   

“To give you space, if you needed it.” 

Keith looked up at last with sharp eyes that flashed in the fading light and said, “I’d stand beside you at all hours forever if I had a choice in the matter.” His gaze softened then and he added, “...but that’s not exactly practical, is it?” 

Shiro gave him a reassuring smile. “Not exactly, no. But...I’d like to be with you whenever the team can spare you.”  Keith brightened at this and nodded, agreeing to the terms.  Then it was Shiro’s turn to look away.  This had to go both ways, had to, and some part of him was still leery of knowing whether it did.  “What about me?” he asked at last. 

“As often as the CIC [1] will spare you,” was the prompt reply.   

Shiro smiled. Raising his gaze once more, he met Keith’s open affection with his own asked, “Can I kiss you?” 

By the fading light as dusk crept in, Keith smiled. Those dark eyes were bottomless and told him all the secrets Shiro knew Keith would never utter. He reached out to brush aside a stray lock of hair and leaned forward to capture his lips with a kiss that Shiro hoped told his own secrets. 

*****

Back at Shiro’s quarters, however, it seemed Keith’s earlier doubts had resurfaced. Naked and wrapped in his bedsheets, their limbs entwined, he sensed Keith withdraw as if some vulnerable piece of him had suffered a blow, raw and hurting.  It startled Shiro, who worried suddenly about what he had done to instill such a response.  “What is it?” 

“It’s nothing,” Keith assured, looking away.  “It’s stupid. I’m being selfish.” 

An alarm sounded in the back of Shiro’s head. Pulling back, he chased Keith’s gaze and was wholly unable to catch it, Keith eventually closing his eyes to avoid looking at him. “Keith, tell me,” Shiro pressed.  When Keith resisted, biting his lip, Shiro craned his neck forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Tell me,” he said again, softer, gentler. 

At last his patience won out. 

“I didn’t think I needed it,” Keith said at last.  “I didn’t think I needed to hear it.  Being with you was enough, after everything.  But I want to. So much. And I—I hate myself for it.  You...you would say it if you wanted to, if you _had_ wanted to. I won’t make you, I won’t ask you to.  It’s not fair…” 

As the words poured out of Keith, they shivered on his tongue as he started to tremble.  Shiro pulled further away to sit back on his heels, his hands braced on either side of Keith’s body. He stared down into those dark eyes that had finally met his own and found so much want and fear and hope, roiling like the maelstrom.  “Oh, Keith,” he breathed, “is that all you need from me?” 

Keith’s eyes slid away again but not before Shiro saw the affirmation in them.  He then dropped his lips to Keith’s stomach in a chaste kiss, earning a gasp from the man beneath him.  “I love you,” Shiro said, then moved slowly up Keith’s body. To his ribs, his chest, his collarbone, his neck. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

“I love you,” Shiro said, capturing Keith’s lips with his own at last.  “To the end of the universe...and back.” As he spoke, he pressed feather-light kisses over Keith’s face, tasting tears. “I will love you until all the stars explode and everything we’ve ever known and never knew is nothing but dust. Until the universe dies and is reborn and reborn and reborn again.” Returning to Keith’s lips, he drank him like wine. “I love you. I _have_ loved you. I _will_ love you.” 

With a muffled cry, Keith’s arms came around his neck and he clung to him. Shiro shifted his weight and rolled to the side, his arms coming up to wrap around Keith’s smaller form to hold him close and bring him with him. Breaking their kiss, Keith hid his face in his shoulder even as Shiro brought his right hand up to tangle in his dark hair.  He held him until the trembling subsided. And still, a mantra— 

“I love you.” 

“I have loved you.” 

“I will love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] CIC, or Combat Information Center aka the Operations Room. It’s is the tactical center of a warship providing processed information for command and control of the near battlespace.


	18. Factory Reset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has all but given up on a decent night's sleep. Between eldritch space horrors and the war that never seems to end, there is enough to worry about. But now he has discovered a new personal crisis. The ATLAS. The ATLAS itself is always awake, which by extension means...so is he.

Lance liked to run.  Since he was a kid trying to keep up with his siblings, there had always been something soothing about falling into a steady rhythm, feet striking the ground beneath him, in a way that few other things were.  Especially if you weren’t being _chased_ by some horror out of interstellar space.   _Then_ it was a _whole_ lot less relaxing. 

But here in the aft gym facility aboard the IGF ATLAS as they cruised through coalition space, he was able to set that anxiety-inducing caveat aside for now.  He was thankful that most of the ship’s personnel were on a different schedule, judging by the sparse attendance.  It meant he wouldn’t have an audience as he tried to clear his head.  There was a lot to think about. 

Lance walked over to one of the machines, setting down his water bottle and tossing his towel over the safety bar.  He did some cursory stretches to work out the remaining stiffness from sleep and winced as muscles stretched and pulled.  With a final roll of his neck—which popped unpleasantly and elicited a groan—Lance stepped up onto the machine.  

He set an easy pace at first, gradually working his way up the program, faster and faster.  He let his thoughts drift away from the things that weighed on his mind to just the hum of the machine and its belt underfoot, the burn in his legs as they worked beneath him, the breath in his lungs that came faster and shallower the longer he ran.  For now, that was all that mattered.  For now, he could just be.  For now, he was just a guy on a run...not a Paladin of Voltron, not a Defender of the Universe.  

During one sprint, however, Veronica appeared.  She slid smoothly into his line of sight and leaned an elbow on the machine.  “Hey Lance.” 

“Hey Veronica,” he echoed, the words sounding weak while his mind was elsewhere.  “What do you want?” 

“I was hoping to talk to you.” 

“Couldn’t find a better time?” he asked as the machine’s program dialed back the speed to a steadier pace, entering its cool-down phase.   

“This is actually an _excellent_ time,” Veronica countered. “I needed to catch you alone, and you make that rather difficult.” 

Lance grimaced.  She was right, he knew.  He spent most of his time with the other paladins, Allura especially.  Their brief stay on Earth had—if anything—reinforced how high the stakes were for all of them.  It had been hard to get over that, get over how overwhelming the challenge before them was.  Being close to the paladins helped take the edge off. 

But then Veronica was speaking again.  “I was hoping I could talk to you about the captain, specifically.  And that doesn’t need an audience.” 

“Shiro?” Lance asked, turning his eyes fully on her.  Veronica had a good poker face, but not good enough.  He could always read his siblings better than most.  “What about him?” 

“He's not sleeping much.” Veronica sounded hesitant, as if broaching the subject with extreme caution. 

Lance gave her what he hoped was a reassuring, albeit lopsided, grin. “He never slept much. He was the only one of us who ever seemed to be ‘on’ at all times. Getting him to relax was always a nightmare. We managed it a few times, but—” 

“It's more than that, Lance.” 

His grin faded. Underfoot, the machine’s belt slowed to a stop and he braced his hands on the safety bars at his sides, shoulders hunching.  Shiro was as human as any of them, but he struggled even now to bridge the man with the idea of him in his head. “Has he made a mistake?” The question felt traitorous on Lance’s tongue. 

“No,” Veronica was quick to reassure. “But...most of us on the CIC [1] are worried about him. We just won't bring it up at the CAG. [2] I thought...you being a Paladin of Voltron and all, maybe you knew what to do, or who to talk to, to get him to take some rest.” 

Lance considered this for only a few brief seconds before his smile returned. “Do I ever.” 

*****

Shiro jumped as the door to his quarters slid open unexpectedly and Keith barged in, snapping, “What's all this about you not sleeping?” 

Leaning back against his desk, Shiro let his eyes drift back down to the report displayed on the tablet in his hand. “Most people _knock_ , you know…” he said, smirking. 

There was an irate pause. But then Keith spun on his heel and marched back toward the door. 

Realizing what he'd started, Shiro tried to stop him. “Keith, Keith wait—” but the other man was already gone. There was another heavy pause...and then a smart knock on his door. Shiro laughed and set the report aside, curling his fingers over the edge of the desk as he braced his hands on either side of his hips. “Come in,” he called out. 

Keith reappeared. “What's all this about you not sleeping?” he asked again. 

“Insomnia’s a bitch,” Shiro replied, hedging with a defeated shrug. “What of it?” 

“You need your sleep,” Keith told him, sounding calmer. “Have you talked to medical?” 

Shiro sighed and nodded. “Yes, and they gave me some pills for it. They weren't working, so I stopped using them.” 

“Something else then,” Keith mused. 

Before he could offer suggestions, however, Shiro ran through his own list. “I have tried medication, and meditation, and exercise, and food, and booze—day after that one wasn't particularly fun—and none of it has worked. It hasn't worked because it's not me; it's the ATLAS.” 

Keith studied him with mounting concern. They'd not spent a full night together since they had left Earth and Shiro could see it in his eyes that he was beginning to doubt that decision. “What do you mean?” 

Shiro took a deep breath and ran his hand through his short hair. “I can _hear_ it, Keith,” Shiro told him at last, voice soft. “The ATLAS. It…” he sighed, struggling with how to explain it.  “It tells me things, things I couldn’t possibly know.  I don’t always know how to interpret the information it gives me, but it’s there all the same.” 

Shiro picked up the tablet he had discarded earlier and tossed it to Keith, who caught it easily, albeit with some confusion.  “Pull up the crew division reports.”  He watched Keith tap a few times on the glass surface and then let his eyes drift, unfocused, to the empty space between them.  And he listened.  “Aft.  Portside.  Inboard.  Something minor.  A nuisance, really.  It’s taking too long. The usual fixes aren’t working.” 

There was a moment of silence.  And then, “Two mechanics are working an atmospheric units that’s acting up.” 

Shiro almost smiled.  That had to make the crew mess rather uncomfortable… “Starboard beam.  A more serious problem.  There’s...a team working it.” 

“One of the airlocks is malfunctioning,” Keith answered. “The notes say that there’s a concern that its vacuum gauge is off. They’ve locked down that compartment to prevent accidental decompression.” 

“There are eight people in medical. Two serious, six less so and will be returning to post.”  Keith smirked at the screen before him.  Shiro continued, “There are 2,300 souls onboard, as well as 38 coalition members who have docked with us until the next system.  Iverson is running a weapons simulation for the sixth time today.  Hunk is using the officers as test subjects for some recipe he cooked up in the galley.  Chief is having it out with the MFE pilots again for chewing up the deck while landing.  The Holts are in the labs.  Lance and Allura are together…” 

He pulled back from that last one, and shook his head trying to silence the collective consciousness in his head.  ATLAS however pushed onward past him, through the ship, _was_ the ship, was the _crew…_  At last Shiro sighed and told Keith, “It’s like this all the time. At all hours.  I _can't_ sleep because ATLAS _won't_ sleep.” 

“So tell it to stop,” Keith told him, powering down the tablet in his hand and stepping closer.   

“I have _tried_ ,” Shiro countered.  “It’s not listening, and I don’t know ‘humans need sleep’ in binary.” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of...well,” Keith paused and Shiro had the distinct impression he was trying to retain his composure before he completed his thought.  “More along the lines of maintenance requests.” 

Shiro was not entirely sure how to respond.  When he did, his voice was heavy with skepticism.  “‘Maintenance requests.’”  

Keith nodded, closing the remaining distance between them.  He dropped the device onto the desk and rested his hands over Shiro's. With Shiro still resting against his desk, they were nearly at eye-level.  “ATLAS is telling you about things that are happening elsewhere in the ship, including things that are going wrong.  So tell it something is going wrong.  Like, ‘Command module experiencing critical system failure.  Shutdown initiated.’” 

Shiro stared at him...and then snorted.  It was ridiculous enough to work.  Why not.  “CPU overloaded,” he suggested. 

“Fuse blown. Needs replaced.” 

“Overhead light busted. Needs changed.” 

“Printer needs toner.” 

At this, Shiro laughed heartily and brought a hand up to hide his face, overcome with the absurdity that had become of his life. Dropping his hand on Keith’s shoulder he did as he was instructed and told the ATLAS about all the things that were failing and breaking and falling apart in every language, every image, every way he could. 

And then—it _looked at him_. 

Shiro’s eyes shot open as he gasped, his muscles twitching, shaking under the ATLAS’s singular attention as it _assessed_. As if seeing it from outside of himself, he registered Keith cradling his face in his hands and saying, “Tell it you can fix it.  Tell it you just need time.” 

His eyes snapped shut again, plunging him into darkness as ATLAS drew closer and _studied_ him.  He was so small, such an inconsequential thing compared to the eldritch horror that loomed in his mind’s eye, massive and ancient and _aware_.  Shiro took a shuddering breath, mouth dry, and stared _back_. [3] 

And then...it turned away, retreating. 

Shiro groaned and collapsed forward against Keith who held him tight, one hand clasping the back of his neck while the other wrapped around his waist.  “Fuck that was terrifying,” Shiro hissed. 

“I’ve got you,” Keith replied. 

“I think…” Shiro groaned again as his eyes grew heavy, his limbs weak as his breathing steadied and became shallow. “I think I can sleep now…”   

Through the encroaching fog in his brain, he felt Keith pull an arm across his narrower shoulders and guide them to his bed.  Before his head even hit the pillow, darkness took him. 

*****

There was a soft chirping that brought him slowly up out of the darkness, drifting to the surface. Around him, comforting warmth and stillness. Then a shifting of weight and shuffling steps leading away.  Shiro sighed, letting his eyes slide open. 

At his desk, Keith leaned over the terminal and answered the call.  Although Keith’s body blocked the screen, Shiro recognized the voice easily enough.  “Oh!  Keith!” Lance said with surprise.  “I...sorry, I must have misdialed.” 

“You didn’t misdial,” Keith murmured. “What is it?” 

“...where’s Shiro?” 

“Sleeping,” Keith told him, disconnecting the mobile component from the console and moving further away. “Can I help you?”  The hushed conversation faded as Keith took the handheld with him and retreated, the hiss of the door signaling his exit. 

Shiro let himself drift back down into the comforting darkness.  Beneath it was the ever-present hum, the life force of the ATLAS which felt so much like his own mirrored and refracted back at him.  But for now, it let him rest. 

How long he slept, he didn’t know. But as he floated back up into consciousness, his ears registered a soft _zap_ —the sound he’d come to associate with space and time warping—and a blue light played across his eyelids.  There was movement in the dark room, followed by a snuffling near his head before something settled its weight at the edge of the bed.  There was a soft whine, punctuated by a rough tongue running across his fingers.  A smile crept across Shiro’s lips and he slowly opened his eyes. 

Kosmo stared back at him, his snout angled toward Shiro’s upturned hand.  The wolf blinked its gold eyes before he tilted his head and nuzzled his palm. 

Shiro exhaled, the sigh colored with laughter, and he lifted his hand to scratch the wolf’s cheek.  Kosmo leaned into the touch before turning and prodding his hand with his nose.  Shiro chuckled then and pet the creature properly, his fingers running through the coarse hair and scratching the wolf’s ears.  “Hey Kosmo,” he greeted before rolling onto his back to look up at the ceiling.  

He took a deep breath and stretched his arm over his head and legs down toward the end of the bed, feeling joints pop and muscles strain from disuse.  How long had he been out?  Scrubbing his face with his hand, he sat up and crossed his legs before him under the sheets. While he rubbed the stiffness from his shoulders, Kosmo craned his neck forward to drop his head down on his bent knee, gold eyes watching him.   

Shiro smirked and glanced over the wolf’s head to the end table where the pieces of his Altean arm had been set aside at some point prior. _Keith_.  He remembered the man carting him over to the bed and surmised the man had also stripped him of the uniform and the prosthesis.  He’d have to thank him for that. 

Reaching over Kosmo’s head, he grabbed the arm itself and determined to deal with the cap later, once he was dressed.  He set the forearm down atop the sheets pooled in his lap. He then engaged the power source, felt the neural connection align, and let it freely float back into position on his right side. He twisted the arm to the left and right, fanning his fingers out and curling them back in as the device calibrated.  At last, Shiro dropped both his hands back onto Kosmo’s head to scratch the base of his ears.  The wolf closed his eyes, looking pleased.  “Where’s Keith?” Shiro asked him. 

As if on cue, the door to his quarters slid open and both he and Kosmo looked up to find the man in question standing in the entryway.  He hesitated a moment, his eyes darting between Shiro and Kosmo before sighing and walking over to the bed.  “I didn’t expect him to wake you up.  Sorry about that.”  Dropping down onto the edge of the bed, he squinted down at the wolf who seemed for his part perfectly content to stay where he was.   

“It’s fine,” Shiro told him.  “What have I missed?” 

Keith offered him a lopsided grin.  “I’m happy to report that the last forty-eight hours have been uneventful.  So clearly the universe hasn’t yet picked up on the fact you’re awake again.”  Then sobering, he added, “You look better.” 

“I feel better but I’m still...kind of out of it,” Shiro told him and then groaned as he ran a hand through his short hair.  “I desperately need to brush my teeth, take a shower.  Then get the CAG together…Maybe I can convince them to let me eat something while we talk...” 

“The latter two I can help with,” Keith told him.  “I’ll leave you to the former.” 

As Keith moved to stand, Shiro reached out to catch his wrist and halt his progress.  He ran his thumb over the back of Keith’s hand before lifting it to his lips to press a chaste kiss against the skin.  Raising his eyes, he met Keith’s startled gaze.  Shiro smiled warmly up at him and murmured, “Thank you.” 

He watched as a faint flush dusted Keith’s cheeks at the affection before the man dropped his eyes to their joined hands.  “Of course,” Keith whispered.  He struggled against the shy smile that nevertheless graced his lips and said, “I’ll see you later?” 

“Of course,” Shiro echoed and relinquished his hold on Keith’s hand.  As the man retreated back toward the door, Shiro looked down at Kosmo whose gold eyes watched him closely.  “I’ll see you later too, I’m sure.”  

Kosmo blinked once and then withdrew, following his master.  Shiro watched the two of them leave and smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] As a reminder, CIC refers to the “Combat Information Center” aka the Operations Room. It’s is the tactical center of a warship providing processed information for command and control of the near battlespace.
> 
> [2] CAG in this case refers to the Commander’s Action Group, a small cross-functional team of key advisers to help with special initiatives and coordination/integration of planning and execution. Every CAG (or similar advisory body) is different.
> 
> [3] There’s a bunch of different fandom interpretations of the IGF ATLAS and what makes it tick. For some it’s a baby that has to be taught, for others it’s an old and perhaps picky or exactly regal lady who only likes Shiro. For me, it’s A Horror. Fueled by the compressed Castleship, it is thousands upon thousands of years old. And with Shiro at the helm, it’s all the more powerful.


	19. Interception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro races to the paladins’ aid after discovering their communications have been intercepted. The captain of IGF ATLAS joins the rescue on the ground and is faced with a familiar foe. Afterwards, he must deal with the dark thoughts that rise in the fall out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE BITCHES! Bet you thought Chapters 16-18 were the only updates this weekend! :D :D :D 
> 
> Also, PS. #ShiroShotFirst and this is the hill I will die on. :P

“Apologies for the delay. We experienced a glitch in navigation. I will have to get back to you.” 

Veronica took a seat at her work station while Acxa hovered just off to the side, having followed her during the CIC shift change.  Transmission received, Veronica reached up and closed the comms line to just her terminal.  “Everything okay out there, Keith?”  She stopped just short of admitting what was on her mind and had confided in Acxa moments before: their captain was worried.  The comms line had been ordered open until further notice while Shiro was called away to deal with some other shipboard crisis, leaving Iverson the con.  Something was off about the paladins’ delay and if it was enough to worry Shiro, it was enough to truly frighten Veronica.  “Do you need help from the ATLAS?” she asked. 

“No assistance required, thank you,” came the prompt response. “Lance will figure it out.” 

Veronica smirked. She didn’t know Keith well personally, but knew enough _about_ him to recognize a joke when she heard one. “Right, Lance, the navigation genius.” She let herself relax, chiding herself for the ice that had formed in the pit of her stomach while they waited. 

“Affirmative.” 

That...didn’t sound like a joke.  She looked up at Acxa, hoping she would allay her concern and explain that Keith was just channeling some inner Galra humor, but found her just as startled and confused as she was.  Her gold eyes spoke volumes: _That’s not Keith._  

Turning to Iverson, Veronica found that concern mirrored on the man’s grizzled face.  “How long have they been delayed?” 

“They should have arrived when we did…” 

Veronica felt Acxa tense.  It was subtle, and she knew weeks prior she would have entirely missed the shifting weight, as if she was some wildcat pacing its enclosure searching for a weak spot.  “Something doesn’t seem right.”  

Across the bridge, Veronica could see Curtis take over his station from another officer, the other man scrubbing his face with clear fatigue and exiting the CIC. Curtis studied the readings for a moment...and immediately spun in his chair to face them. “Look at this,” he called over to her.  Turning back to his terminal, his fingers flew over the keys frantically. “It looks like their frequency has been pinging off a decoy.  I’m intercepting it now—” 

Veronica watched in horror as the main screen flooded with distress calls, unanswered and silenced by some unseen enemy.  She felt her throat tighten and the floor drop out from under her.  _Lance—_  

“We need all hands on-deck immediately!” Iverson ordered over the shipwide intercom before initiating battle-ready protocols. 

Opening a direct line, Veronica hailed, “Captain—!” 

“Don’t wait for me,” Shiro ordered from elsewhere in the ship.  “Get us underway.  Now!” 

*****

 _Patience yields focus._  

Shiro stood by just behind Acxa as she sought to reason with Zethrid.  Overhead the MFEs hovered, waiting for an order or an opening to engage.  He knew Veronica was elsewhere, likely lining up her own killshot. 

Across what felt like an impossible distance, he watched Keith's breath come in deep gasps, no longer struggling against Zethrid’s grip.  Even from where he stood, Shiro could see those usually sharp eyes losing their focus the longer Zethrid held him against her as a shield.  Keith winced and groaned as the massive Galra tightened her grip on him even as Acxa pleaded with her.  They were running out of time.  

 _Patience yields—_  

“All I have left…” Zethrid growled, raising her blaster and taking aim at Shiro himself.  He felt a cold, dawning realization wash over him. “Is revenge!” 

 ** _—Focus!_**  

Time slowed. And with it, a series of events in rapid succession. 

Shiro flipped his blaster to his left hand. Aimed. Fired. 

Zethrid collapsed backward with a cry.   

Keith dropped to a knee, slipping from her grip. 

Veronica’s shot went wide.  A whiff of smoke rose from where it caught Keith’s hair as he and Zethrid fell apart. 

As their foe fell out of sight, Keith dove back toward her, nearly going over the edge himself. 

Shiro was already halfway across the outcropping before time returned, his heart hammering in his chest.  “Keith!”  Dropping down beside him, he reached forward with his Altean arm and clasped Zethrid’s wrist.  Vaguely, he registered Acxa joining them and the three of them hauled the massive, unconscious alien back up onto the outcropping. 

Immediate crisis averted, Shiro turned his attention back to Keith who had rolled over onto his back, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe.  “Hold on,” he told him as he reached down to touch Keith with his left hand, hoping to offer some comfort.  Keith didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes glazed and staring up into the dark sky above them. 

Overhead, engines roared while the MFEs circled the perimeter as one of the ATLAS’s transport shuttles came in for a landing.  The shuttle hadn’t even touched down before the rest of the rescue team dispersed. “Get _her_ in irons and take her to the brig with the rest of them,” Shiro ordered as they assembled around Zethrid’s unconscious body.   

He then searched the faces but for one terrifying moment couldn’t find the one he needed.  Under his hand, he felt Keith go limp.  Over the intercom, Shiro shouted, “Veronica!” 

“Here!  Here!” came the call back and Veronica appeared from the shadows, bolting toward them while pulling an oxygen mask from her pack.  She skidded to a stop and knelt beside them, handing Shiro the mask while she opened the valve to the attached tank. 

Shiro slipped the mask over Keith’s face.  “Come on, Keith,” Shiro muttered, desperate and frightened. “Come on…” 

They didn’t need to wait long.  As the oxygen flowed, Keith’s eyes slid open and he blinked up at them.  “Shiro?” he asked, disoriented.  But then as if suddenly remembering where he was and what had happened, his eyes went wide.  His arm shot forward, catching Shiro in the chest.  “The others—!” 

“They’re fine.  We’ve got them,” Shiro assured.  “Can you sit up?” 

Keith nodded weakly and pushed himself upright.  He then groaned and listed sideways into Shiro, who drew his arms around him to stabilize him once more. 

“We need to get him to medical,” Veronica said.   

Shiro nodded and reached his hand forward for the oxygen tank, which Veronica passed to him quickly enough.  He then set it in Keith’s lap and instructed, “Hold onto this.”  One of Keith’s hands dropped to the tank while the other came up to hold the oxygen mask more securely over his face. Shiro shifted then, tucked his arms around Keith’s body, and stood.  Cradling Keith against him, he followed Veronica toward the shuttle. 

*****

“Acxa told me.” 

Shiro paused in his rewrapping of the fractured wrist between his hands and looked up.  Keith’s hair was still damp from the shower he’d taken in Shiro’s quarters.  He’d managed to pull on a pair of sweatpants but hadn’t bothered to slip into a shirt, which left the bruises that had bloomed dark and angry across his torso on full display.  Shiro frowned and went back to wrapping Keith’s wrist.  “About?” 

“About Ezor. And Zethrid.” Keith paused while Shiro fastened the binding but refused to let go of his hand.  That sat in silence for a moment before he continued, “It was personal and I didn’t understand why, when she attacked me. She thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I understand now,” Keith said at last, voice soft. “If our roles had been switched, if it had been _you_ …I don’t know what I would have done. But I don’t know if I would have stopped.” 

Shiro considered this. It was enough to be at war, to face the constant threat of death in some battle they hadn’t started. It was something else entirely to know some small part of the universe had personal vendettas out against you. This wasn’t the first time either, he recalled, thinking back to the Druid which had tricked them using Kolivan’s signal.  He clenched his teeth and said nothing.  

Quietly, Keith asked, “What would you have done? If…” 

Keith didn’t say the words and Shiro was relieved for it. He looked away. Since their safe return to the ATLAS, he had thanked every possible form of the divine and unknowable he thought might listen that they had gotten there in time. Because any later…The idea was toxic and inescapable and sowed dark thoughts in his head he preferred to not acknowledge. The scenarios all began with Keith’s battered corpse and ended in madness. ‘Any later’ and they would have been too late, on more than one front. 

Swallowing thickly, Shiro chanced a response. “I don’t know,” he admitted, echoing Keith’s earlier sentiment. “But I _know_ killing her wouldn’t have been enough. And that frightens me.” He took a deep breath trying to steady his nerves before he dared look up to meet Keith’s gaze again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Keith shook his head and brought his hands up to cup Shiro’s face between them. “You got to me,” he said. “I’m safe because you got to me. That’s all that matters.” 

Shiro leaned forward then and kissed him, slow and sweet. Keith’s arms slid around his neck while his own came up to embrace him, carefully, gently, his fingertips gliding over bruised flesh. He felt Keith shiver at the touch and the arms around his neck clung tighter. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” Keith whispered when they parted.  As far as Shiro was concerned, it wasn’t even a question, but he nodded all the same.   

When they climbed into bed, Keith settled his head over Shiro’s heart while his arm wrapped around his ribcage. No sooner had he lay down, however, that a thought seemed to strike him. “Your arm,” he said, lifting his head back up to look at prosthesis which Shiro had stretched out to his right across the sheets and away from them. Keith then turned to look down at him, the planes of his face lit by the soft blue glow emanating from the Altean arm. “Not disconnecting?” 

Shiro reached up with his left hand and brushed a stray lock of hair out of Keith’s eyes. _I need it_ , he thought. _I need it for now. To protect you, to help you, to keep you safe. For now._  “Not tonight,” was all he said. 

Keith’s dark eyes searched his own for a time. Then, propped up by an elbow, he reached across Shiro’s chest and took hold of the prosthesis' wrist, bringing it closer.  He pressed a tender kiss to the metal knuckles before he settled back down against Shiro’s chest, draping the Altean arm across the two of them, the large hand resting against his hip. 

Shiro closed his eyes and sighed, holding Keith close and breathing him in.  They were safe, he told himself.  For now.


	20. The Latest Trend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Clear Day, Keith makes an observation and Shiro is mildly disturbed (to Keith’s great amusement). Shiro then makes an assessment of the human experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOUR MORE CHAPTERS! FOUR MORE CHAPTERS!

“You smell good.” 

Groggy from sleep, his back pressed against Keith’s chest, Shiro blinked his eyes open and checked the clock on the desk console.  Still early.  Good.  He chuckled while Keith pressed butterfly kisses to the nape of his neck. “I can harbor a guess as to why,” Shiro mused, smirking.  The crew rest for Clear Day had been appreciated by everyone—a brief respite from the weight they could never fully put down—but then the two of them had returned to his quarters and…well, it had been a very good night to say the least. 

“No, it’s something else,” Keith told him.  His arms snaked around Shiro’s ribs, holding him close. The kisses at Shiro’s neck took on a new headiness. He felt Keith’s teeth graze the skin at the juncture with his shoulder making him gasp, suddenly very awake. The promise of a bite never came though, melting instead into another gentle kiss as long fingers wandered over his chest.  “Maybe I’m imagining it.  Maybe it’s because I’m half-Galra,” Keith mused as his lips ghosted over and up Shiro’s neck, coming to rest just behind his ear. “But it’s got me thinking—” 

“Dangerous,” Shiro teased. 

“—if you smell good to me, then how many other aliens did you turn on last night?” 

“Uh…objectively, just one.” 

 _“That you know of.”_  

This made Shiro hesitate, concern rising to the surface. “No one got that close.” 

“Maybe for your puny human olfactory capabilities,” Keith challenged, and Shiro could _hear_ the devilish grin in his voice.   

“It was just an arm wrestling match!” Shiro contended, rolling toward Keith and onto his back. His partner shifted with familiar ease, climbing on top of him and settling onto his hips. Shiro dropped his left hand onto Keith’s thigh and squeezed. “And now you’ve corrupted it!” 

“Just think about it,” Keith told him with a wide grin, his hands splayed over Shiro’s stomach.  “How many species—just on Earth—find mates through feats of strength?” 

“Oh God…” 

“You just single-handedly ensured the human race is going to be the most sought-after sexual partners in the entire universe!” 

Shiro groaned and and closed his eyes, covering his face with his hand.  “Oh God, stop—” 

“Because of _you_ there are going to be _so many_ more of me!” 

“Now that,” Shiro began, lifting his hand from his eyes and cupping Keith’s cheek.  He ran his thumb over the scar there and watched Keith’s eyes soften as he pulled him down towards him.  “That I can get behind,” Shiro said moments before their lips connected and he felt Keith hum into the kiss.  “Besides,” he added when they parted, “the universe could use more human qualities, I think.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, from what I’ve seen thus far...the human experience amounts to righteous insanity which tends to embolden our natural ‘fight’ response; an utter lack of self-preservation where our principles are concerned; and some innate desire to pack bond with just about anything, animate or otherwise...including the things that could kill us.”  Keith shot him a skeptical look and so Shiro poked him in the chest for emphasis.  “You’re a Paladin of Voltron who adopted a space wolf that could literally teleport anyone that touches him to another dimension.  I say you fit the bill.” 

“Wait. Wait,” Keith huffed.  “So what you’re saying is that I am the way I am because I’m half- _human_ , not because I’m half-Galra.” 

“Oh absolutely,” Shiro told him with utter certainty, grinning up at him.  “The only real giveaway that you’re half-Galra is your utter lack of appreciation for absurdist humor.” 

 _“Because it doesn’t make sense!”_  

 _“That’s the point!  That’s why it's funny!”_ Shiro argued, laughing while Keith glared down at him.  Recovering, he reached up to cup Keith’s cheek in his hand.  “Come here,” he beckoned and as Keith leaned in, he whispered against his lips, “I love you,” before kissing him soundly.


	21. Stand Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paladins—against all odds—return victorious from their final confrontation with Honerva. The witch is dead, or gone at least, and in her wake she (with Allura’s help) has sought to undo some of the damage wrought over centuries. Shiro knows all of this. And yet…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehhh….So the S8 ending was a thing that happened. **_BUT NOT HERE!_ **HERE WE DIVERT FROM CANON LIKE IT’S OUR JOB! \m/****

Shiro paced his quarters.  From his fingertips dangled a glass, amber liquor swirling and climbing up the sides precariously as he moved about the room.  The bottle it had come from sat in the center of his desk, its label damaged during the Galra invasion of Earth but the contents miraculously preserved.  Damaged but whole.  Fitting.  Shiro took a long drink from the glass in his hand, relished how it burned down his throat and into his chest, and continued to pace.   

They had made it out.  They had _all_ made it out and Honerva...the witch was dead, or _gone_ at least, and in her wake she had undone some of the damage she and Zarkon had wrought over centuries.   

The debrief with the CAG had been surreal and judging from the glazed looks from everyone around the table, no one had expected to survive the encounter.  The ever-present question of _what now_ weighed on all of them, now faced with the immensity of universe-wide reconciliation ahead of them.   

But Shiro had found the question that had snapped at his heels since the meeting was not _what now_ but rather, _what **next**_.  What was looming just out of sight?  What was coming?  What price would have to be paid to move on? 

The door to his quarters slid open with a hiss, interrupting his musings and drawing him up short and mid-step in the center of the room.  Keith stepped in, but only just, and let the door slide shut behind him.  His eyes scanned the room, taking in the drink in his hand, the bottle on the desk… Returning his gaze to meet Shiro’s, he said only, “Hey.” 

Shiro nearly laughed, a giddy sound bubbling up from his chest, but knew somehow that would have been the wrong response.  Instead he answered, “Hey.”  Keith watched him— _studied_ him—and whatever amusement had been born from Shiro’s utter exhaustion crumbled and collapsed.   

Those eyes saw far too much.  Always had.  Shiro looked away.   

“You seem keyed up,” Keith said, his voice level even as he took several brisk steps toward him. He stopped just out of arm’s reach, seeming uncertain.   

“Did the second door give it away?” Shiro asked, pointing weakly at the new exit that ATLAS had materialized out of thin air moments after his return.  It led to a hallway that hadn’t existed before.  Shiro retreated a few paces to perch on the edge of his desk, putting additional space between him in Keith.   _Running,_ he thought bitterly.  He threw back the rest of the liquor in his glass before discarding it on the desk itself, hearing it skitter toward but not over the edge. 

“It’s over,” Keith said, taking a few more steps forward. 

“I know.” 

“Honerva’s gone.” Another step. 

“I know.”  He did.  He did know.  And yet… He clenched his teeth and looked away, looked anywhere but at Keith who watched him with an unfamiliar wariness, as he grappled with the hurricane in his head.  Anger and grief and exhaustion and relief all woven and bound so tightly he couldn’t make sense of the tapestry they gave him.  Shuddering and trembling, he hid his face with his left hand and spat, _“Fuck her.”_  

Keith closed the remaining distance and embraced him, one arm curling around his waist while the other came up to comb his fingers through his hair.  Shiro groaned and buried his face in Keith’s shoulder, while his own arms encircled the smaller man.  “I’m here,” Keith murmured.  “I’m here.” 

Shiro took several shaking breaths as he clung to Keith—his lifeline, his constant, his partner, bound together in red strings of Fate.  But he was fracturing, shattering, and the feeling was a familiar one.  It frightened him and he clung harder.  _Don’t leave, don’t leave me…_ As if from far away, he heard himself ask, “How monstrous am I that I want to kill her, even now?” 

And he did. Oh he _did._ They had seen miraculous things and cosmic horrors in their final battle, but with Honerva’s sacrifice, entire _planets_ had been restored where there had only been space dust.  The universe and all its infinite realities had had been saved.  So why did he feel like there was some Sword of Damocles forged with dark fire hanging over his head?  Why did he feel like he was still fighting? 

“I don’t fault her wanting redemption,” Shiro murmured at last, conceding.  “Who wouldn't want redemption, after everything?  And she tried.  She tried to fix things, I know.  She and Allura.  They put things back as best they could.  Returned the homes that were lost, planets that were destroyed.   

“But what about all the... _death_?” he demanded, voice strained and barely audible.  “What about the... _mutilated_ bodies and ruined lives she left in her wake?  She has her second chance...but I'm still counting footsteps in the hallway.  And maybe I always will be.”  A beat, and then, “Maybe it’ll be worse.” 

When Keith answered, his concern was palpable. “Why do you say that?” 

“Because there’s a price.  There’s _always_ a price,” Shiro told him.  He could _feel_ the denial coming and spoke before Keith could.  “I tested into the Garrison.  I got their acceptance letter the same day my parents died.  I was selected for the pilot program and was diagnosed with a terminal illness.  I went to Jupiter and we nearly lost Sam. [1]  I went to Kerberos and was kidnapped and tortured by aliens.  I found a family…and spent every waking hour _terrified_ that I’d get you all killed because I wasn’t smart enough or fast enough or brave enough or…” His words failed him and he felt tears well in his eyes.  He inhaled sharply, trying to dispel them.  Keith said nothing and Shiro took the moment to steady himself once more before he spoke again.  “Honerva is gone.  We won.  You’re safe, the team is safe, the crew is safe.  What’s the price for that?”  Then, whispered, “Could I ever pay it?  Would I be enough to?  What would the universe ask from me this time?” 

Keith was quiet against him for awhile, the two of them drifting and holding each other amidst the chaos that swirled around them.  Eventually Keith ventured, “Maybe...not this time.  Maybe there won’t _be_ a price.  Because we’ve already paid it.  Ten thousand years of Galra oppression and expansion...maybe we helped the universe right the balance.” 

Shiro sighed and pulled back, pressing their foreheads together.  At last, he murmured, “It’s a nice thought.”  

“Hold onto it,” Keith told him, his hands coming forward to cup Shiro’s face between them.   

Shiro sighed at the touch, closing his eyes.  He turned to kiss the palm of Keith’s hand and breathed him in before turning back to press his cheek against the calloused skin.  Keith’s thumbs stroked his cheeks and he felt himself crack under the caress.  Unbidden, the tears returned. “I dream of running,” Shiro said, voice shaking, frightened that acknowledging his terrors would give them power and finding he couldn’t stop the words even if he tried.  “It starts as some violet-lit corridor.  Always it starts there.  But then it’s the Garrison, or the ship, or the back alleys from when I was a kid.  There’s never a way out, never a safe haven, despite my best efforts to find one.  A never-ending chase, the monster at my heels.  

“So I keep running, and I can never get far enough ahead of it.  And I know if I stop it will eat me alive.  And so far...so far I’ve woken up before it can.  But what if...what if one of these days I don’t?” 

“They’re just dreams,” Keith assured him. 

“What if they’re not,” Shiro countered, reluctantly pulling back and away from Keith’s hands.  They dropped to his chest and slid down his uniform, coming to rest at his hips.  The stubborn contact was comforting as he raised his own hand and wiped at the tear tracks that marred his skin under Keith’s unwavering gaze.  “I went crazy once before,” Shiro said.  “I know what it feels like.  The...slow breaking and fracturing and rending.  Eventually pieces of you fall away and you can’t find them again.  Sometimes they just...shatter under the weight.”  He swallowed thickly and repeated, “I went crazy once before.  I could do it again.” 

“Honerva had her hooks in you then,” Keith reminded him. 

Shiro shook his head.  “Honerva gave me a _push_ ,” he said, pantomiming with his hand a weak nudge before letting it fall back to his side.  “I was already falling apart, long before she took over.” 

Keith considered this for a time.  But then, gently, “I know.”  And the truth was, he did.  Shiro knew he did.  Releasing his hips, Keith took his hands in his own and brought his left hand up to kiss his knuckles.  Meeting his eyes once more, he said, “Say the word, and I’ll stay.  Come _whatever_ else, I’ll stay.” 

Shiro took a deep breath and slowly expelled it in a long sigh.  He closed his eyes, focused on Keith’s touch, the desk under and behind him, the dull thrum of the ATLAS in his head.  “I know,” he said at last.  “Which is why I won’t.  My trauma isn’t your problem to fix.  But I…”  He trailed off and swallowed thickly.  Opening his eyes again, he met Keith’s gaze and was startled at how open, how freely he gave his affection.  _He loves me_ , Shiro reminded himself.   _He loves me_.  “I’ll need your help...support—” 

“You have it,” Keith told him without hesitation.  “You’ll always have it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Backstory to _that one_ coming as part of the Garrison Days project I’m ginning up.


	22. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes. Their mission changes. Aboard the ATLAS, Keith wakes to find Shiro in a moment of uncertainty after a particularly difficult session with the shipboard psychologist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can clearly not let The Pain go just yet.

Shiro stood before the mirror in the small bathroom attached to his quarters aboard the ATLAS and studied himself. His eyes roamed the lines on his face and the scars on his skin and wondered what lay beneath. He shivered at the thought and with great trepidation twisted so that he could see parts of his back in his reflection. From what little he could see, it looked as one would expect, but—

"What are you looking for?"

The question came from off to his side and he looked over to find Keith leaning against the door jamb, yawning, his now-braided hair still tousled from sleep.  But when he blinked and looked at him, his eyes were clear.

Shiro turned back to his reflection and braced his left hand against the countertop. He could feel it tremble under his weight. After a time, he said, "The session this week was...difficult. I haven't gotten out from under it yet."

"But what are you looking for?" Keith repeated.

From the corner of Shiro's eye, he saw Keith's arms raise and twitch as if wanting to cross but Keith resisted, _willing_ them hang loose at his sides it seemed. Open, receptive. Shiro would have smiled if he had the energy. As it was, it felt like it took everything to answer him. "It wasn't just the arm." He closed his eyes, trying to close himself off from the swell of hurt and horror that came with the admission. It had been a _very_ difficult session. "I know it wasn't this body. But the memories are still there. And he had the same arm. Which means they just...improved their methods. How much of me is still human? Do I really want to know?"

He sensed movement to his side and, opening his eyes once more, he watched as Keith pushed away from the door and approached. Once within arm's reach, he pressed a single finger to the hard line of his jaw, and brought it into view. A small blotch of red colored the pad of his fingertip.

"You nicked yourself shaving. You bleed red, like a human is supposed to," Keith said, rubbing away the evidence. He then reached up and ran his fingers along the knobs of Shiro's spine, from the base of his skull downward, inspecting them. "This feels like a normal human spine to me," he said, letting his hand lay flat against the soft curve in his lower back. "And no matter what they did," he continued, voice gentle as his arms snaked around Shiro's waist, "you're still human."

Shiro turned into the embrace. Bringing his arm up, he clung to Keith's shoulder and ducked his head, hiding his eyes in the juncture with his neck.  He breathed him in and they stood entwined for a long time in silence before Shiro felt strong enough to speak again.  "Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing by going to see her," he said, in reference to their shipboard psychologist. As he spoke, he felt Keith's hand come up, his fingers scratching at the short-cropped hair at the back of his head.  "I know I did.  Rationally, I do.  I know what the alternative looks like, what it feels like.  But it hurts.  All of it just...hurts.  We keep breaking things open and prodding at them and there are days that I...I have a hard time collecting all the pieces of myself back together."  Then, softly, "I'm not as strong as you think I am."

"No," Keith murmured against his ear, "you're stronger."  Shiro took a breath, intent on protesting, but Keith pressed ahead.  "No one alive could have done what you've done, survived what you have..."

The words struck a bit too close to home and he felt himself withdraw—mentally if not physically—a fog rising between them, cutting him off from what comfort Keith offered.  Betrayed by his own head and some misplaced need for self-preservation.  Sometimes he felt like an imposter, a traitor in his own skin.

He didn't realize he had admitted as much aloud until Keith uttered, his words trembling, "No...Takashi..."  He clung to him tighter, pressing insistent kisses to his temple and neck and shoulder.  "Do you trust me?"

"...yes."  That much was true.  The fog lifted somewhat.

"Then believe me when I tell you that you've stayed true to yourself, despite everything— _in spite_ of everything."  Keith's hands stilled where they held him, offered strength and stability.  When Keith spoke next, his words were whispered against his ear.  "When you met me...you were so gentle...you treated me like I deserved kindness.  You were the first person to do that in a long time.  You're _still_ gentle, you're _still_ kind.  I loved you then.  I love you now.  And I will love you.  To the end of the universe and back.

"What's more," he continued and pulled away, taking Shiro's face in his hands and catching his gaze, "you're not alone.  The others...they're here for you.  I'm here for you.  We're not going to let you fall."

Shiro swallowed past the tightness in his throat, his eyes searching Keith's.  Those depths stared back and he realized he’d seen that color before.  They were same the color of infinity, of the void.  He knew that now.  He knew—"What do you see when you look at me like that?" he asked.

Keith gave him a slow-blooming smile that held such warmth, Shiro felt his breath catch.  At last, Keith said, "The future."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[Kenny](https://twitter.com/spaceboykenny/) did a piece for this chapter, which is available [here on Twitter](https://twitter.com/spaceboykenny/status/1151303943089057792?s=19).**


	23. A New Era

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith makes an impassioned speech on unity and reform and reinvention at what will be the last Kral Zera. Overhead, the IGF ATLAS is in low orbit.

Above Planet Feyiv, the IGF ATLAS hung in low orbit, its crew at the ready.  For what exactly, no one was entirely certain: reinforcing fire if need be...a diplomatic escort as preferred.  All possible contingencies were on the table. 

The only personnel _not_ at their stations were the four remaining paladins who stood on the bridge watching the main display alongside the rest of the CIC personnel.  Lance cast a sidelong glance at Shiro, who stood stone-faced beside him.  The man had been quiet and all but crackled with some unseen energy.  It made the hair on the back of Lance’s neck stand on end.  He would have brushed it off as him projecting his own anxieties onto their captain if Allura hadn’t winced and stepped further away upon entering.  It was a point for further discussion...but perhaps not for now. 

Because for now, Keith was on the display before them.  Down on the planet’s surface, he spoke with passion about second chances and reinvention, of unity and reform, of new paths to be charted.  And as Keith stepped toward the massive purple flames alongside several other would-be leaders of the reclaimed Galra nation, it became clear they were facing the dawning of a new era. 

“They went with the idea…” Lance mused more to himself than those around him. Turning to Shiro, he asked to confirm, “If he lights that flame at the top, he’s not just a paladin anymore, is he?” 

There was a beat before Shiro answered.  “No.” 

The reply gave nothing away in terms of how Shiro felt about the matter.  Lance bit his lip and turned his eyes back to the screen in time to catch Keith and half a dozen others light the beacon in unison.  After a time, he smiled and said, “We should do something for him.  Our Keith’s all grown up, leading the Galra…” 

Tearing his eyes from the screen with what appeared to be great difficulty, Shiro faced him and it seemed to Lance that some thought had just crossed his mind.  Or rather a series of them, in rapid succession, each carrying its own new revelation.  It was a fascinating thing to watch.  

And then Shiro reached down and opened the ship-wide channel.  “This is the Captain,” he said with all the authority the title would muster.  “Battle stations, stand down.  Prepare the ship to receive a leader of the Galra nation.”  As he spoke, his eyes drifted from Lance to Allura.  Lance followed his gaze and saw her offer a knowing smile an an approving nod in return.  “Full honors appropriate to the rank, per protocol.” 

Lance grinned.  On the other side of the CIC, Hunk muttered, “Oh, he’s going to be so embarrassed…” 

Meanwhile, Pidge chuckled darkly.  “This is gonna be great!” 

Time passed in a blur as they hustled throughout the ship.  Preparations were made.  Uniforms were changed.  Personnel were assembled.  In the time it took for the shuttle to return to the ship, the crew lined the hangar bay in review formation, the paladins standing at attention beside Shiro and the other senior officers. 

Keith had left the ship a Paladin; he returned a foreign dignitary and was greeted with salutes and bells chiming overhead.  It was a bit of a shock, judging by the wide-eyed bewildered look Keith shot them from far across the hangar bay.  

Recovering from his initial surprise, he disembarked the shuttle and took long strides to the front of the hangar, Krolia keeping pace just a step behind him.  When he reached the team, they greeted him with salutes as well before Shiro extended a hand, which Keith readily accepted like a lifeline.  “You didn’t have to do this,” he said. 

Lance snickered from his position to Shiro’s left, unable to stop himself.  “You kidding?  It was totally worth the hassle, just to see your face.”  From the corner of his eye, he watched Keith look back at Shiro, though whether he was seeking an explanation or consolation, Lance wasn’t sure.  But whatever he saw in the man’s face must have reassured him because he quickly moved to stand before Lance...and hugged him. 

*****

They had gotten underway shortly thereafter, course plotted to Daibazaal, the Galra fleet flying alongside the ATLAS.  It was during the trek through the the wormhole that there was a knock at the door to Shiro’s quarters.  He smiled.  “Come in.” 

Keith entered and stood before him and Shiro paused to take him in.  Back straight, shoulders set, uniform gone...the man before him now was who Keith was always destined to become.  It filled him with pride to see it.  

But something was amiss.  As he took a few steps toward him, he saw sadness in those dark eyes.  Reaching out, Shiro caressed Keith’s cheek, took his chin in his fingers, and leaned in to kiss him tenderly.  Keith’s hands came up to touch his elbows as he returned the kiss, but there was something that felt like loneliness between them.   

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asked when they parted, his hands sliding down to take Keith’s arms in his hands while he met his eyes.  He could feel Keith shaking and it only concerned him more. 

“I’m afraid,” Keith gasped, the words coming out of him in a rush.  “What if I chose poorly?  What if this was the wrong path?  What if...the future...what if…”  He clapped his hand over his mouth and closed his eyes, unable or unwilling to say more. 

Keith had been so sure, so confident before the assembled Galra.  He had been so certain of his footing aboard the ATLAS upon his return, even if his welcome had come as a surprise.  This sudden doubt, _fear_ even.  What had happened in the time between?  What had—Shiro felt cold realization wash over him.  “We’re at one of the crossroads,” Shiro said, breathless.  “Right now.  We’re living in it, aren’t we?”  Keith nodded, looking pained. 

Shiro dropped a quick kiss to Keith’s temple before enveloping in his arms, holding him tight as Keith’s arms came around his ribs.  He could feel long fingers clawing at his uniform while Keith shuddered against him, as if the weight of the universe had suddenly come to his shoulders.  Perhaps it had.  

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Keith mumbled against him, the words rumbling in his chest where it was pressed tight against Shiro’s own.  They became more frantic and unsure the longer he spoke.  “I can’t take it back but—but what am I supposed to do?  Where do I go from here?  How am I...how am I supposed to _help_ them?  Why can’t I see further ahead?  Why is it just _here.  Now._ In this moment?  What am I deciding?  Is this the only road ahead?  What am I _doing—?_ ” 

“You’ve done amazing things, Keith,” Shiro told him, seeking to stymie the line of questioning even as he withdrew from the embrace.  His hands fell to Keith’s shoulders and he held him steady as he looked into those turbulent eyes.  “Allura was right: you have greatness in you.  I saw it back on Earth, before all of this.  I could never have _imagined_ what you would do, what you’d accomplish.  But your work’s not done and they _need_ you.  So stay.  Be great.  Lead them onward to what they _could_ be.” 

“But what if it was _the wrong path_?” Keith asked between clenched teeth.  He shook his head and looked up at him, eyes confessing all his fears.  “I would _choose_ to stay with you,” he said. “I would _always_ choose you.  Regardless of what other paths may offer.” 

Shiro tamped down the fluttering in his belly at the admission.  “Is that what your heart says?” Keith nodded.  “What’s your _gut_ say?” 

Keith’s gaze faltered, fell away, turned inward.  After a time, he answered, “I...I’m needed here.  I need to be here.  I have to stay, to help them.” 

“So stay,” Shiro said.  “Stay and _lead_.” 

“And watch you leave again,” Keith countered with a deep-seated hurt. 

“Ah, but _this_ time you _know_ where I am,” Shiro argued back.  “It’s not _blind hope_.”  Taking Keith’s face in his hands, he searched his eyes and willed away the doubt he saw there.  “Think of all those times you found me, saved me.  All those _impossible_ times.  And _this time_...I’m just a call.” 

He watched tears well in Keith’s eyes and bent forward to head them off, catching Keith’s lips with his own in a bruising kiss.  Keith met him with equal force, but he trembled still.  Shiro soon pulled away only to tuck Keith’s head into the curve of his neck and held him until the tremors subsided.   

They stood in silence for a time, Keith’s ragged breath the only sound between them.  At last, Shiro murmured, “I never believed much in Fate.  I much preferred creating your own.  But...there’s...something. I can feel it.  Like some tone has been struck and I can feel it reverberating.  It’s in my bones and on my skin and I _know_.  You’re _meant_ to be here.  And I’m not.”  He swallowed thickly and combed his fingers through Keith’s dark hair.  “But that doesn’t mean I’m not meant to be _with you_.”  Shiro ducked his head once more and kissed the crown of Keith’s head.  He felt Keith tighten his grip around his midsection.  “I told you—years ago, now—that the universe doesn’t operate in a binary.  Just because I’m not _here_ doesn’t mean you don’t _have me_.”   

Muffled against his shoulder, he heard Keith ask, “Will you wait for me?” 

Shiro smiled, unseen.  “Forever.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONLY ONE CHAPTER LEFT YOU GUYS!


	24. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later they are back on Earth, this time to celebrate the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AFTER ALL OF THAT PAIN, have some self-indulgent fluff! Also, PS: drag racing is bad and you should not do it! So irresponsible, OMG…!

Shiro adjusted the shoulder strap to his duffel and hooked a finger through the hanger of his garment bag before he glanced behind him at the other paladins.  Hunk and Pidge had secured their bags off of the conveyor belt while Keith hovered nearby, his own bag by his feet.  Commercial Earth travel was still recovering from the Galra invasion and airports were rudimentary at best—ironic, as it was easier than ever before to get _off-planet_ —but the facility itself was crowded all the same.  Shiro wondered idly how many of the other passengers were _also_ there for the wedding and bit back a smile.  No one had approached the four of them yet, and so either they had successfully arrived incognito or others were giving them a wide berth out of courtesy.   

Allura and Lance’s nuptials were _the_ intergalactic affair.  A princess of old Altea and a Garrison brat from Earth.  Both Paladins of Voltron and leaders of the Alliance in their own right.  It was very much a diplomatic to-do, and Shiro knew the guestlist was a long one.   

Which was why he had been so shocked when they had asked him to officiate.  While aboard the ATLAS on deployment nearly a year prior, the two of them had met him in the small forward conference room.  Coran had been seated nearby stroking his mustache, eyes glimmering with what looked like happy tears.  “Me?” Shiro had asked, unable to hide his surprise.  His eyes had flitted between Lance and Allura and found the two of them so impossibly sincere.  “Why me? Surely there’s someone else…” 

Allura shook her head.  “I’ve already promised Coran he’ll walk me down the aisle—” 

“A privilege which I will bear with all the dutiful gravitas it requires,” Coran said tearfully. 

“Besides,” Lance cut in, voice soft, “you’ve been there since the beginning.  For both of us.  It would mean a lot.”  Those blue eyes had been so hopeful, so earnest, Shiro had agreed without further thought. 

Now they were in Cuba, less than a week out from the wedding itself.  Hunk was fresh off the diplomatic training circuit and was getting into a familiar headspace: he and Romelle had orchestrated the menu, the staff, and the kitchens for the event and he had already shared with them that he needed to check in on how preparations were going before he could think of much else.  Pidge had come straight from the Garrison where she had been leading the Research and Development Division to new heights alongside their off-world compatriots.  She had played the whole thing very cool, but Shiro knew—having talked to Matt—that she had been ecstatic to have been included in Allura’s escort alongside Lance’s sisters.   

Keith rounded out the team as Lance’s Best Man, a feat considering his work kept him largely out in Galran territory...with occasional forays into the ATLAS’s trajectory... 

Shiro glanced sidelong at Keith and considered him.  When their eyes had met across the terminal, the first thing he had wanted to do was take him into his arms and kiss him.  Admittedly, that was usually the response he had to seeing Keith after an extended time apart.  He had resisted, but just barely.  They had never been _secretive_ about their relationship, just...discrete.  Keith was known to be outright hostile toward individuals who decided to insert themselves into his personal affairs without an invitation and Shiro appreciated the privacy his rank usually afforded him.  As such, surprise ‘welcome home’ kisses at the airport in front of dozens of nameless onlookers were out of the question.  

As he mused, lost in his own thoughts, Keith looked his way and their eyes met once more.  Keith gave him a soft smile, the one he reserved just for him, and it made Shiro’s heart flutter in his chest. 

“So what now?” Hunk asked as the four of them clustered together. 

“Allura says they’re out front and that we’ll see them,” Pidge answered, eyes on her mobile. 

“Let’s go then,” Keith answered.  He led them through the doors and into the bright Cuban sun.  But too soon they stopped short, caught suddenly off-guard by the sight that greeted them. 

Arms around each other in an easy embrace, Lance and Allura leaned casually against the door of a very beautiful, very _fast_ machine.  Red and sleek with graceful curves and an open canopy.  It _looked_ dangerous.  Shiro suspected it sounded dangerous too. 

Keith was the first to recover from their collective shock, sputtering, “What—How—?” 

Lance laughed, pushing away from vehicle as Allura’s arms fell away, and reached out to clasp Keith’s hand before pulling him into an affectionate hug.  Behind him, Allura answered, “The Zealae [1] representatives sent their regrets.  They won’t be able to join us for the ceremony.  I have a friend on the delegation who is aware of our... _predilection_ for fast machines.  They were a gift.” 

At the mention of ‘they,’ the group turned collectively and realized there was yet another vehicle.  Blue with a covered passenger compartment, it otherwise appeared as gorgeous and deadly as its twin.  “Figured we’d pick you up in style,” Lance said.  To Keith, he asked, “Wanna drive?”  

The answer was a given.  The six of them split apart—Lance, Allura, and Hunk moving to the blue vehicle while Keith, Shiro, and Pidge gravitated to the red machine—depositing luggage in back compartments before climbing inside cabins.  As Shiro dropped into the passenger side of the red beast and lowered his aviators over his eyes, Pidge slid into the back seat.  “Try to keep it on the road, Keith,” she teased, strapping herself in. 

They followed Lance through the city, deftly navigating the rebuilt grid of narrow streets and small expressways.  But soon the cityscape began to give way to wide roads and a sparse population until at last they reached the final crossroads.  Nothing but empty, winding backcountry roads lay ahead of them beyond the final obstinate traffic light. [2] 

As Keith pulled up beside their pace car, Shiro glanced at their driver.  There was something devilish in those violet eyes, though his face was unreadable.  He turned then to the other vehicle to find Lance eyeing them with similar curiosity.  Shiro smiled; Lance smiled back. 

And then Shiro popped his door and stepped out.  He heard Keith do the same in conjunction with a half-formed question from Lance: “What are you…?” 

Shiro crossed in front of the vehicle, brushing past Keith who pulled his hair into a low ponytail and moved to Shiro’s recently vacated passenger seat.  Shiro paused by the driver’s side door and knelt to run some of the dirt from the road over his hands and glanced up ahead, assessing the conditions.  As he took his place behind the controls, he could hear Lance’s increasingly concerned sputtering, the gears in his head clearly starting to click into place. 

From behind them, Pidge asked, “Uh...should I _also_ change seats?” 

“Tighten your harness,” Keith instructed, taking his own advice.   

“And find us some music,” Shiro added. 

“Sure,” Pidge answered with some hesitancy as she pulled out her mobile.  “What kind?” 

“The _racing_ kind,” Shiro answered.  He ran through the systems before him and checked gauges.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Pidge lean forward and swipe a finger over her device’s screen, sending a data file to the vehicle’s system.   

The opening chords of some high-octane bassline sprung forth and Shiro laughed.  Beside him, Keith drawled an appreciative, “Nice...” 

Shiro bent forward to look past Keith and caught sight of Lance, who now looked _very_ concerned.  And then he revved the engine.  The sound was glorious and vicious and everything he had hoped it would be. 

Lance went pale, his eyes wide.  Just under the sound of the music from their speakers, Shiro could hear the others talking.   

“Wh-what’s happening?” Hunk stuttered. 

“Is he challenging you to a race?” Allura asked, sounding more intrigued that worried. 

“No.  Nonono.  Lance!  Lance, buddy—We have to actually **make it** to your wedding—!” 

Shiro revved the engine again and coaxed with a drawn out, “Come on…!”  Beside him, Keith leaned back in his seat and braced a foot against the dashboard.  He turned his eyes back to the light before them, watched it go from red...to yellow.  The engine roared again, this time echoed by the vehicle next to them.  Shiro grinned. 

And then— _green!_  

Shiro shifted gears and the vehicle _launched_ forward.  Keith crowed and let his hands fly above his head, eyes closed and completely at ease.  Meanwhile, Pidge cursed from her seat behind them but there was a giddy thrill to the sound.  From his vantage point, Shiro could sense more than see Lance’s vehicle off to his right, keeping pace a moderately safe distance away.  But he was on his heels all the same.  

Shiro laughed and guided the vehicle like it was an extension of himself, as he had done with everything before it.  The vehicles drifted through curves in the road, kicking dirt and grit in their wake, while the engines cut through the otherwise peaceful countryside like predators. 

Like lions. 

*****

They eventually returned to a comparatively sane speed and Shiro let Lance take the lead en route to their ultimate destination: the large country home that would serve as their base of operations for the week.  They pulled up the long drive and as Shiro parked the vehicle next to its twin, Keith shot him an appraising look.  Flushed and windswept, Keith worried his lower lip between his teeth before turning suddenly and leaping from his seat.  He then all but dove into the backseat of the other vehicle, his torso disappearing in through the open window.  

As Shiro cut the engine, he could hear Hunk proclaim, “You’re all maniacs!   _You_ especially.” 

From his place waist-deep in the vehicle, Keith argued, “Hey, I wasn’t the one driving.  But you made it okay!  No harm, no foul.” 

Pidge chose that moment to release her own belt and climbed out of the backseat.  Crossing to the blue machine, she wriggled in under Keith’s arm and said, “Hunk stop complaining.  We made it here in record time, even taking the scenic route!” 

“Yeah, thanks to Lance and Shiro’s trying to break the land speed record!” 

Shiro chuckled and popped the latch to his own door before climbing out and walking around the vehicle to the back hatch.   

Lance joined him there.  “Hunk’s not wrong, you know,” he said, grinning. 

“Which part?” Shiro asked. “Being maniacs or breaking speed records?  On the latter, you probably could with these things.  I don’t think the Zealae delegation is familiar with Earth’s traditional traffic patterns.  Too bad you don’t have a straight track handy for us to test it out.” 

Lance snorted.  “And the former?” 

“You’re a Paladin,” Shiro answered.  He gave Lance a brilliant smile and clapped him on the shoulder.  “Former’s a given at this point.” 

Lance’s smile softened and he opened his mouth as if to say something further— 

But then from the direction of the house, they heard, “Lance Rodríguez! [3] Figures it’d be the lot of you!”  Lance winced and groaned as if in pain before they both turned to find Veronica making her way toward them.  “I knew it,” she said, sounding as exasperated as she looked.  “I’m all for life-threatening activities in times of crisis, believe me, but we are _not at war_ and you are getting married on _Saturday!_  Do you have _any idea_ how irresponsible that was?” 

“What was?” Lance asked, feigning ignorance...badly.   

“Don’t start.  I could hear you racing those things from the moment you left the city limits.  You’re not fooling anyone.  Whose bright idea was it?” 

“Oh, that would be me,” Shiro said and relished the surprise that drained the color from Veronica’s face.  He almost laughed.  Almost.  

“Permission to speak freely, Sir,” Veronica muttered. 

“ _Not_ granted,” Shiro shot back with a wide smile as he pulled his bags out of the back hatch.  But then he added, “Though I’m not in uniform so I suppose I’ll allow it.” 

“Sometimes I remember that we’re technically the same age now, time slippage and all that,” [4] she said.  “This is one of those times.” 

Shiro laughed.  “Take it for a spin,” he suggested as he strode past her.  “I’m sure your brother won’t mind.” 

“He doesn’t!” Lance assured quickly, though it held a tinge of panic and Shiro wondered if _that_ was the sound of a younger sibling looking to avoid punitive measures.   

Still chuckling, Shiro followed Allura and the others toward the house. 

*****

Allura led them on a quick tour of the house that would be their staging ground, the event and reception venue itself further down the road.  The house apparently belonged to Lance’s extended family, as was the case with much of the vast swath of farmland that surrounded them.  Grown and built upon with each new additional union of blood or marriage.   _Old lines_ , Shiro thought, wondering if this pastoral oasis was what Lance thought of as ‘home.’  He smiled to himself.  

Lance and Keith had hung back to talk through wedding matters with a promise to catch up with the rest of the group.  Allura had thus led the rest of them toward the bedrooms so that they could refresh themselves after a day of Earth travel.  Shiro trailed the three paladins as they climbed the stairs to the second story, the floorboards creaking underfoot.  Pidge and Hunk split off once they had been shown to their rooms before Allura reached the end of the hall and opened the final door. 

“It’s the the largest we had,” she said, as they stepped inside. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“It’s also the only one whose windows don’t stick,” she added. 

 _Ah._  Shiro turned his eyes to the large glass panes over the bed.  He considered them quietly.  A window was just another door if you cared enough.  To Allura, he said, “Thank you.” 

Allura gave him a kind smile.  “No need,” she assured.  Then, gently, “I realize there’s still quite a lot to do before the wedding, and I’m sure the event itself will be hardly ‘relaxing,’ but...I do hope that this week will still serve as some respite from our usual duties.  For you as well.” 

Shiro gave her a small smile.   _Message received._  As she took her leave, shutting the bedroom door behind her, he dropped his duffel and garment bag onto a corner of the bed and crossed to the windows.  He unhooked a latch and slid one of them open easily enough.  A light breeze rolled in, bringing with it the sounds and smells of the world outside.  A world he helped save, a world that was rebuilding.  Shiro closed his eyes and breathed deep. 

Suddenly, there was a light knock on the door. 

He turned on his heel and moved back toward the bedroom door but paused.   _Wrong door_ , he realized, thinking on the direction from which the sound had come and pivoted toward the door at the far wall off to his right that he had assumed led to a closet.  With brisk strides, he reached out to grasp the handle and opened the door to reveal— 

 _Keith!_  

—who gave him a sultry smile mere seconds before he slung his arms over Shiro’s shoulders and captured his lips with a startling, hungry kiss. 

They stumbled back further into Shiro’s room, Keith guiding him backwards until he felt the bed at his legs.  As Shiro dropped down onto the mattress, Keith pressed close to stand between his parted knees.  Breaking the kiss at last, Shiro’s hands found Keith’s hips while long fingers ran through his hair, eliciting an appreciative groan. 

Keith chuckled darkly.  His lips came to Shiro’s temple and he murmured, “I want one of those cars.” 

“Technically it’s not a ‘car,’” Shiro reminded him. 

“Whatever they are,” Keith amended.  “I want one.” 

“What would you do with it?” Shiro asked, hands sliding from Keith’s hips up under his shirt to caress the warm skin at the small of his back. 

Keith shivered, but his voice was strong when he replied, “Drive it, for one.  Make _you_ drive it, for two.  And for three...well, maybe that’s a conversation we should save for later.” 

“Later?” Shiro asked, his hands already drifting around Keith’s waist to his stomach and fingering the belt buckle… 

Keith caught his hands with his own, halting their progress.  He ducked his head and kissed Shiro again.  “Yes, later,” he said, the words colored with laughter.  He pulled away then, fingers still entwined with Shiro’s own.  “Later.”  A promise this time.  And with a final, lingering glance, Keith slipped from his hands and through the door into his adjoining room. 

*****

It was late when Shiro heard the door to the adjoining room open and shut.  He was already in bed, curled on his side under the open window.  Soothed by the breeze that ruffled his hair, he had drifted toward the siren pull of sleep which called after a truly exhausting day.  But then there were whispers of footsteps and the bed shifted with the addition of another occupant.  

“Best Man duties complete?” Shiro asked as strong arms slid around his torso. 

“For now,” Keith answered.  His lips found purchase at Shiro’s shoulder and the nape of his neck, feather-light kisses making their slow way toward his ear...   

Shiro groaned as those lips took an earlobe between them and—now _very_ awake—asked, “Does this count as ‘later?’” 

Keith released him and laughed quietly, breath hot against Shiro’s skin.  He didn’t bother to answer, instead bringing a hand up to push Shiro’s shoulder down into the bed.   

Shiro rolled onto his back and smiled as Keith climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.  Hair unbound and shirtless, Keith was a sight to behold.  Truly, Shiro would never get over how beautiful he was.  It took his breath away every time they reconnected on Earth or across the universe.  He lay his hand over Keith’s bent knee, almost possessive.  “What was the third thing?  From earlier,” he asked. 

It was hard to tell in the dark room, but he could have sworn he saw Keith blush.  “It seems silly to tell you now…” 

“Tell me,” Shiro urged.  His hand slid up Keith’s thigh, hiking the soft fabric of his shorts up toward his hip.  He watched Keith’s lips part in a silent sight.  Shiro then tightened his grip, fingertips pressing into yielding flesh and Keith gasped.  It was a soft needy sound, punctuated by the way he rolled his hips down into him.  

“If I tell you,” Keith whispered, “think you can be quiet?” 

Shiro smiled and canted his hips up into Keith, watching his eyes flutter.  “Can you?” he challenged. 

Keith smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Thanks go again to the [Star System Name Generator](http://www.scifiideas.com/star-system-name-generator/) for ‘Zealae’
> 
> [2] Suspended disbelief: traffic lights exist. It was either that or have Keith count them down.
> 
> [3] I realize fanon likes to use “McClain” as Lance’s surname, but it’s from previous Voltron incarnations but is not canonically from VLD itself. I wanted to use something that had a more direct correlation to his Cuban roots. Rodríguez is the #1 most common surname in Cuba (at least as of 2014 records, so…).
> 
> [4] More fun with timelines! Time is more a suggestion than a rule, anyway. :P


	25. The End is the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura and Lance’s wedding has already been a night to remember, and the paladins—tonight, wedding party—have been enjoying themselves, breathing a sigh of relief as they collectively turn a new page. During the reception, Shiro and Keith take an important step of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE FLUFF (with some side hurt/comfort)! Also, an Easter Egg for the _Haunting of Hill House_ fans.

Allura and Lance’s wedding had been quite the affair, second perhaps only to the reception that was currently underway.  A beautiful affair, to be sure; but between the traditions—both Earth and Altean—and the size of the crowd it had brought forth from what felt like nearly every corner of the known universe they had touched...it had all been a bit overwhelming. 

Shiro thus found himself sitting in the sumptuous garden behind the venue on a solitary bench, looking out over the Cuban countryside.  The sounds of music and merriment from the hall behind him drifted out on the cool night breeze and he let his eyes drift skyward.  Married.  Allura and Lance were married.  He was glad for it.  They were good for each other, balanced and complemented each other, though this knowledge didn’t make it any easier to fully comprehend.  He still remembered the scrawny kid in his lecture session at the Garrison [1] and the princess who awoke from her extended hibernation, fist swinging.  

From behind, he heard footsteps.  Not uncertain or hesitant per se, but their slow approach asked permission all the same.  Shiro smiled to himself.  Turning to look over his shoulder, he found Keith making steady progress across the expanse that separated them.  His hands were buried in his pockets and the buttons of his suit jacket undone, parted to reveal the vest beneath, which gave him a far more casual air than the party necessitated.   

“Mind if I join you?” Keith asked once he was close enough.  Shiro shook his head and Keith took a seat on the bench beside him.  They sat in comfortable silence for a time, eyes on the sky.  But then Keith broached the subject Shiro knew had driven him out into the night to find him in the first place.  “Was it the venue or the crowd?” 

“I don’t know,” Shiro admitted, his left hand finding a seam in his dress uniform.  He worried it between his thumb and forefinger, using the rub of the coarse fabric to ground himself a bit further in the present.  “Maybe both.  It’s hard to tell.”  He chanced a sidelong glance and saw Keith nod, thoughtful.  Shiro then continued, “My therapist says that I should always feel I can remove myself from situations that make me uncomfortable.  But at the same time, I can’t run from them.  I set the property line as the ‘running’ limit, so I’m still within bounds.” 

“Sounds like a reasonable parameter to me,” Keith told him.   

They lapsed into silence once more, considering the property around them, the... _life_ that had returned to the planet in the years since the Galra invasion, the sounds of the party that continued in the building behind them.   

Eventually, Shiro let his eyes slip away from the stars overhead down to the edge of the property.  His gaze turned inward and when he spoke, it was cautious.  “It makes me angry,” he admitted.  “I didn’t use to be like this.  I never liked big crowds, but they didn’t bother me like they do now.”  He shook his head and suppressed a bitter sigh.  “I don’t know how I managed that arm wrestling match on Drazan.  It’s similar stimuli, so why…?” 

There was a beat, and then Keith offered, “The way I hear others tell it, Burr called you old.” 

Shiro considered this.  “He did do that.” 

“I can absolutely see the thought process that went into that, then,” Keith chuckled.  “And I wasn’t even there when it happened.” 

“Oh?”  Shiro turned on the bench to study his partner with mounting curiosity.   

Keith grinned and then his face morphed into flustered anger.  Feigning great offense, he said, “‘I’m not _old._ Fuck you!  I’ll beat all of these fuckers, you’ll see.  Especially _that guy!’”_  He jammed a menacing finger out toward the field beyond as if aiming at some invisible foe.  As he dropped his hand into his lap, the two of them shared a companionable laugh, tension easing somewhat.  Then Keith continued, gentler, “He told you that you couldn’t do something.  So you proved him wrong.” 

Shiro took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, thoughtful, while a wry smile graced his lips.  “I suppose that would be a factor,” he mused, smile fading as he spoke, “but that doesn’t explain tonight.  There’s no...looming danger.  These are people we know, and those we don’t are here for Lance and Allura.  By extension they’re people we can trust.  There’s no threat.  So why do I threatened?” 

Keith was quiet for a time while his eyes danced to the space between them, to the garden around them, before returning to meet Shiro’s once more.  “Maybe it’s _because_ there’s no threat,” he suggested.  “You’re waiting for one that’s not coming.  At least not today.”  

Shiro clenched his teeth and looked away.  It still plagued him: the constant waiting for the scales to shift and weigh against him, the feeling that something was keeping a tally and eventually would strike all the good things left to him, the fear of inevitable loss.  Despite all the progress he’d made, he was still struggling.  He sighed again, loathing how defeated it sounded. 

“You’re not the only one who feels like that sometimes.”  The words were barely a murmur.  Fragile.  It was enough to bring Shiro’s eyes back to the man beside him.  Keith’s eyes were downcast, his fingers twisting about themselves in his lap.  An old habit.  “I do too,” Keith continued, raising his eyes to Shiro’s once more.   

Shiro considered the confession for a time before he asked, “What do you do to fight it?” 

The question brought a shy smile to Keith’s lips.  “Call you,” he said.  

Shiro huffed a dry laugh and couldn’t fight his own smile.  Reaching down, he took one of Keith’s hands in his own and laced their fingers together.  “How do you always manage to do that?” Shiro asked. 

“Do what?” 

“Make me feel like I’m not alone.” 

Keith’s smile grew, his eyes bright.  “Easy.  You’re _not_ alone.” 

Shiro brought their entwined hands up and kissed the back of Keith’s hand.  Once more the silence between them grew and surrounded them, warm this time.  Calm this time.  After awhile, Keith glanced over his shoulder at the reception hall and with a pang in his chest, Shiro tilted his eyes back up to the sky. 

“We don't have to go back to the party yet if you don't want to,” Keith said, “but the second floor looks awfully quiet…” 

This did not exactly make sense and derailed any further self-deprecating thoughts looking to take root in Shiro’s head.  He too glanced over his shoulder and found that yes, in fact, the second story of the venue was dark.  “Didn’t Lance say there were bedrooms or something up there…” he asked, trying to recall the half-remembered fact. 

A slow, playful smile appeared on Keith’s face.  And then he winked at him. 

Shiro felt his mouth go dry and a flush creep up his neck and into his cheeks.  Pressing his lips into a thin line, he looked away in an attempt to gather himself before he turned back.  “Keith,” he said, trying to reprimand and wholly unable to do so. 

Keith leaned in close, grinning like a demon.  “The rest of the party is distracted alongside the newlyweds.  It’d just be us up there…” 

Shiro’s resistance faltered and then failed.  “You’re a bad influence.” 

“Of course,” Keith agreed, “but I learned from the best.” 

Tightening his grip on Keith’s hand, Shiro stood and promptly led them back toward the building. 

*****

The Best Man was MIA.   

Pidge had grabbed Hunk and Romelle and gone off to find him.  Their first course of action had been to find Shiro and ask him, seeing as Shiro was their first line of defense in all things Keith.  That plan had failed spectacularly because—as luck would have it—Shiro was _also_ MIA.  It took them quite a bit of time turning up empty-handed until they eventually decided to head upstairs and try their luck in the dark second story. 

They crested the top of the stairs and Pidge’s ears perked.  She hushed the other two and they crept silently towards end of the hall.  There was a sound from behind the last door on the left.  A very distinct sound.  Of someone enjoying themselves rather well.  Pidge bit her lip to keep from laughing and felt her cheeks burn.   

From behind her, Romelle hissed, “Is that...is that _Keith—?”_ her voice betraying her shock. 

“We…should…go…” Hunk murmured, already taking several tiptoed steps backwards toward the stairs. 

Pidge squinted at the offending door.  Ignoring Hunk’s hesitance with all the vindication of a younger sibling, she marched up to the door and banged several times.  “Keith!” she called.  “The groom is looking for you.  You’re negligent in your Best Man duties.  Wrap it up!” 

~~~

“Oh shit they found me!” Keith gasped seconds before he slapped a hand over his mouth to silence himself.  Seated on the edge of the room’s bed, his eyes were wide and horrified while his legs trembled from the force of his orgasm moments prior.   

From his place kneeling on the ground between Keith’s legs, Shiro shook with silent laughter as he withdrew, swallowing the last of the evidence of their interlude.  From overhead, his partner hissed, “Stop laughing.”  This only made Shiro’s shoulders shake harder, practically vibrating with mirth.  He carefully tucked Keith back into his pants before he wrapped his arms around his thin waist and buried his face in his stomach to muffle his amusement.  Keith’s hands moved to his hair, caressing and petting as he struggled to bring his breathing under control.  

But bring it under control he did and in record time.  When Shiro leaned back on his heels, Keith’s eyes were clear and his breath even, though the flush in his cheeks stubbornly refused to fade.  “Okay?” Shiro whispered.  When Keith nodded, he stood and pulled his partner up to his feet.  

Shiro helped put Keith’s wardrobe back to rights, the two of them struggling through giddy laughter as they did so.  Keith quickly combed his fingers through his hair, adjusting the braid where it had fallen loose to Shiro’s questing hands, while Shiro straightened the boutonniere at his lapel.  Once suitably presentable, Shiro pushed him toward the door with rushed kisses and hasty, “Go, go!” 

Keith cast a final parting glance over his shoulder before exiting the room, shutting the door quickly behind him.  Shiro collapsed back onto the bed, hiding his face in his hands while he tried to stifle his laughter. 

~~~

Keith emerged from the room into the hallway, closing the door quickly behind him.  Flushed red in the face and wide-eyed, he met Pidge’s steady gaze with clearly mounting horror.  His violet eyes cast a pained glance off to the right to find Hunk and Romelle hovering nearby. 

Pidge smirked.  “Downstairs.  Go.”   

To his credit, the man didn’t have to be told twice.  Keith fled the scene poste haste, taking several long strides to the end of the hall and bolting down the stairs. 

However, when Hunk and Romelle turned to follow, Pidged stopped them with a hiss.  “Hunk!  Romelle!  Get back here!” 

“Why?” Hunk whispered back, sporting a red flush of his own.  Secondhand embarrassment would do that to you every time.  “Keith acquired,” he said.  “Mission complete.  What—?” 

“I wanna know who he was with!” Pidge told them.  “Because it’s _Keith._ And I will _not_ be the only creeper.  Come on!” 

Hunk and Romelle slunk back in light of her insistence and then they waited.  A minute passed.  Then another.  And another.  Pidge was nearly ready knock again when the door opened— 

And none other than Takashi Shirogane stepped out into the hallway in full dress uniform.    

No one breathed in the stunned silence that followed.  The shock was too much.  Shiro froze stock still, his gray eyes darting among the three of them before finally meeting Pidge’s.  They stared at each other, too bewildered to speak. 

That is until Pidge exclaimed with an air of utter betrayal, “No!”  From the corner of her eye, she sensed Hunk try to meld himself into the wall at his back while Romelle giggled.  Shiro flushed and grinned, confirming everything without saying a word.  Still shaking off her disbelief, Pidge sputtered, _“Keith?”_  

Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Shiro’s flush deepened.  Bashful but unapologetic, he shrugged his arms to the side.  

Finally recovering enough to string more than one syllable together, Pidge felt her younger sibling self rise to the fore once more.  “Oh, I’m _so_ gonna tell Lance.” 

“You will do no such thing,” Shiro told her.   

From off to the side, Romelle piped up, “May I tell Allura?” 

“You may _not_.” 

Pidge smirked.  “Fine.  Not now.  But after a time.  Maybe their first anniversary.” 

Shiro chuckled at the suggestion.  A hand came up to scrub at the back of his neck, the last vestiges of his nerves.  “That…that may be enough time for this to be okay.”  Rommelle laughed again while Hunk groaned, hiding his face in his hands.   

With a final discerning look at their fearless leader, Pidge shook her head.  “Keith.”  Pivoting on her heel, she led them back down the hall.  “I’m marking the calendar in my head, you realize.  I don’t know how I’m gonna make it through the rest of this party knowing the two of you were banging with the whole reception downstairs…” 

*****

“Yeah, but can you make that toss?” 

Allura scoffed.  “‘Can I make that toss…’  I threw Shiro _himself_ across a room and into an escape pod.  I think I can handle a bouquet.” 

The wedding party—sans officiant—had gathered in the venue’s kitchen to discuss the plan.  Allura had been adamant that Shiro would get the bouquet, much to her new family members’ confusion or disappointment.  When it became clear there was no changing her mind, conversation quickly turned to _how_ they would get it to the ATLAS captain.   

Lance hummed to himself and then corrected the record.  “I was thinking less _force_ and more aerodynamics.” He raised a hand and pantomimed a glide path toward the floor.  “We need it to clear the crowd and drop right _at_ him.  Because Shiro’s going to be on the outskirts, not in the throng.” 

Allura considered this.  “That’s true.”  She bounced the flowers between her hands.  “It is rather light.  Do we have anything to weigh it down?” 

“Well, we’re in a kitchen,” Hunk reminded them.  “I’m sure we can find some silverware—” 

“And I’ve got the sewing kit stashed in my bra,” Rachel added from her place next to Veronica, leaning against the chopping block. 

“Excellent,” Allura said, passing her flowers to her now-sister.  Rachel grinned and took the bouquet before joining Hunk off to the side to prep the projectile. Allura then addressed the rest of the group, “Now we just need someone to get him into position.” 

All eyes turned to Keith.  The Best Man’s eyes went wide under the combined scrutiny before he sobered and cleared his throat.  “Of course.  What do you need?”  

~~~

There was a commotion up ahead across the reception hall.  Lance and Allura had appeared at the dais before a crowd of excited partygoers.   _Bouquet toss,_ Shiro deduced and turned his attention back to Keith who had his back to the scene.  It didn’t have anything to do with him after all, and talking to Keith was infinitely more stimulating than seeing which lucky attendee snatched the flowers from the air before their competitors.   

But then in rapid succession—the dozens of excited shouts became distressed cries and Keith ducked to the side with a playful, “Heads up!” 

Shiro had just enough time to register _incoming_ before bringing his hands up to shield the worst of it...inadvertently catching the bouquet. [2] 

He stared at it like it was a living thing and mishandling would warrant a bite.  Finally, his ears registered incredulous laughter and heartfelt applause from around him and he felt the pink rise in his cheeks.  He recovered from his initial shock in time to see Allura punch the air before turning to high-five her husband.  She then bounded down the dais and through the crowd, Lance hot on her heels. 

“The Hell was _that?”_ Shiro demanded as the couple reached his side. 

Allura threw her arms around his shoulders, laughing.  Lance meanwhile explained, “Her idea.” 

“That was premeditated!  That’s not how it works!” Shiro argued as Allura withdrew from the hug, she and Lance both laughing.  “And why—why are there—why are there _spoons_ sewn into this thing?” he demanded, eyeing the contents of the bouquet.   

“We had to get the weight right,” Lance argued.   

“Aerodynamics and all,” Allura added, beaming.  Taking Lance’s hand in her own, she backed away toward the dance floor.  “Pick a partner and come join us.” 

Shiro had half a mind to respectfully decline but then caught sight of Keith lingering on the sidelines.  Their eyes met and Shiro knew exactly what he wanted to do. 

Crossing to a vacant table nearby, he set the bouquet down and snapped a blossom free of its longer stem.  He then closed the distance to Keith and tucked the flower behind his ear.  Withdrawing a bit to study the decoration, he found Keith’s eyes bright as he bit his lip, struggling not to grin.  Shiro knew that look: Keith was happy.  It made him smile and gave him the last bit of confidence he needed.  Taking Keith’s hand in his own, he led him out onto the dance floor to join the newlyweds and other couples. 

They swayed together, pressed close and lost in the music.  Shiro felt his heart swell and ache in his chest as he cradled Keith in his arms and led them across the dance floor.  Unable to stop himself, he planted a chaste kiss to Keith’s temple and heard him gasp.  Keith pulled back but only for a second.  Craning his neck, he captured Shiro’s lips in an insistent kiss.  Honest and pure and open.  Closing his eyes, Shiro kissed him back. 

*****

The party had ended.  The guests had dispersed.  The staff were putting the venue to rights. 

But there was still champagne to be drunk and Team Voltron was making their collective way through the remnants, left to their own devices in a small corner of the event space.  The newlyweds sat together, Allura tucked into Lance’s side, his arm draped around her shoulders to hold her close.  They exchanged sweet kisses and secret glances heavy with earnest affection while the rest of them traded barbs and playful, snide commentary.  Like friends, like family. 

Eventually, however, the real reason for the champagne and their reunion was forgotten, which meant Shiro and Keith found themselves in the center of their paladins’ combined attention.  Shiro crossed an ankle over his knee and repositioned the bouquet still clutched in his hand, letting the harmless needling wash over him as he draped his Altean arm across the back of Keith’s chair.   

“It wasn’t a secret!” Keith protested. 

“Bullshit,” Lance argued. 

“None of us knew about it,” Pidge contended.  “Thus: secret.” 

Leaning forward, Keith braced his elbows on his bent knees.  “Oh come on.  How did you _not_ figure it out?  What did you _think_ we were doing, all those nights I spent in his quarters?” 

Lance blushed and shrugged.  “I don’t know!  Strategizing!” 

Keith stared at him, and then deadpan: “‘Strategizing.’” 

“Much _‘strategy’_ was had, that much I can guarantee,” Shiro offered, fighting a smile.   

“Hot, hot strategy,” Pidge added for good measure.  Shiro snorted and winked at her. 

Keith ignored them both.  “Hunk?”

Cornered, the man fidgeted.  “Well, I mean—I thought—I figured you were dealing with some stuff that you guys were really the best equipped to handle.  I just, you know.  Didn't think you were handling it together.  Or at least, not _together_ together.”

There was some truth to that and Shiro acknowledged as much with an appraising nod.  Keith pressed onward, “Pidge?” 

“I assumed it was a Black Paladins thing and I wouldn't understand.” 

Shiro laughed.  “I want that on a t-shirt,” he said to his increasingly frustrated partner. 

Keith hung his head and sighed, defeated.  “You’re all hopeless.”  Finally, as if fearing the answer, he asked, “Allura?” 

The bride hesitated.  The silence immediately drew sudden, wide-eyed attention from all of them and Shiro watched a flush creep into her cheeks.  Finally, seeming somewhat embarrassed, she answered, “I believed you had taken your relationship to the next step but were trying to be discrete and I wanted to respect that.” 

Uproar and cacophony.  The paladins threw their arms in the air with shouts of _‘What?’_ and _‘You guessed?’_  Keith pointed at Allura and stared at each member of his team in turn.  “She’s the only one!  She’s the _only one_ of you!”  Shiro dropped his head back on his shoulders and laughed until tears welled in his eyes. 

*****

Later that evening, once they had bid fond farewells to the newlyweds for the night and returned to the country home, Shiro sat in the middle of his bed dressed for sleep.  At his back the window stood open.  In his lap lay the bouquet, cradled by his crossed legs.  He had picked it up from the nightstand as he set aside his prosthesis and climbed into bed.  Now he studied the pink and white flowers, running the petals between his fingertips and marveling at the velveteen softness.  His heart was full and hopeful but he was so very tired and he sighed deeply, his eyes slipping closed.   

He was roused at the sound of Keith crossing back into the room, the floorboards creaking beneath him.  They hadn’t creaked earlier in the week and Shiro felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward in a crooked smile.  If they hadn’t betrayed Keith’s movements through their rooms, it was because Keith hadn’t wanted them to.  Hiding his presence from others who would hear was apparently no longer a priority.  It gave Shiro’s head a giddy weightlessness and made his heart flutter. 

“You okay?” Keith asked as he climbed onto the bed.  Shiro nodded but said nothing in reply, letting his eyes drift back down to the flowers in his lap.  Keith drew closer over the quilt Shiro hadn’t bothered to turn down.  He crossed his legs and sat before him, close enough to touch, and reached out to rest his palms over Shiro’s knees, his thumbs running slow circles against the joint.  After a time, he mused, “The flowers are beautiful.  It’s a shame they won’t live much longer.” 

“They weren’t supposed to live long to begin with,” Shiro told him, voice hoarse with emotion.  The gentle caress at his knees faltered and he knew Keith had read between the lines.  As he had hoped he would.  Swallowing past the lump forming in his throat, Shiro asked, “Would you have danced with me...even if they hadn’t put me on the spot?” 

“Yes,” Keith answered without hesitation, “if you had asked me, if I thought you would have let me ask you.”  Another moment of shared silence passed before Keith whispered, “Was it okay to kiss you?  On the dance floor?”  Shiro nodded.  Finally, Keith asked, “Are you happy?” 

Shiro raised his eyes and found those impossible violet depths on him, waiting for his answer.  He felt a slow smile tug at his lips, hesitant and hopeful and soft… Keith saw it and sighed, tension bleeding from his limbs.  Reaching up, Keith took Shiro’s face between his fingertips and leaned forward—careful of the flowers that lay between them—and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I headcanon that Shiro was actually (one of) Lance’s Teaching Assistant(s) at the Garrison during Lance’s first year as a cadet in addition to what we saw in canon, with Shiro assisting with simulator drills.
> 
> [2] This scenes was inspired by [synnesai](https://twitter.com/synnesai/)’s bouquet-throwing fanart which you can see here [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/synnesai/status/1078785827017084928) or [on Tumblr](http://synnesai.tumblr.com/post/181503140635/they-say-if-you-catch-a-brides-bouquet-youre).
> 
> *****
> 
> **Author's End Notes:** YOU MADE IT TO THE END!!! I hope you enjoyed the ride...and I hope you're up for some more. "Like what?" you may wonder. Well, we got one wedding down. Clearly that means we need another! Sheith wedding shenanigans is next up. Stay tuned! And if you like what you read, let me know! I would love to hear from you all. <3 Thank you again for reading! 


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